Unwritten
by FatedFeathers
Summary: Following the arrival of Nathan's letter, the full weight of reality smacked down on them all. The aftermath remains a hectic blur through which life as they knew it became distorted by the rippling impact. Now, months have passed. The dust has settled & a new image has emerged: a new town, a new school, &new identities... with restless skeletons in the closet. –Sequel to UNSPOKEN.
1. Foreword & Preface

_And there was darkness and general dusty gloom around the lonely little laptop, and she said "There will be no writing anymore EVER," and wandered down a misty hallway muttering to herself about anatomy and assignments and muses getting lost in between piles of diapers and building blocks flying in all directions._

_Messages poured in, and suddenly there was light and plot bunnies frolicking in the fields where muses once upon a time grazed proud and evil, gorging themselves on spiteful laughter, as the little laptop huddled in a corner and begged for mercy…_

…and I forget where I was going with this.

Oh. Now I remember: I FINISHED _UNWRITTEN_ OH MY GOSH CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

True story: After my apology I really did receive a ton of messages wherein you all assured me I wasn't the wicked witch from the west, on top of reminding me you are all absolutely adorable and so so very sweet and the bestest readers any writer could ask for. I was so overwhelmed by your encouragement and forgiveness that a miracle happened and between then and now I finished _Unwritten_.

While it is the sequel to _Unspoken_, between the time that I started plotting _Unspoken_ and now (has it really been two and a half years already?), much of the story has changed and evolved, because that is what happens when you start a WIP before having the story outlined from start to finish (and may this lesson be learned that never again will I begin posting a story that isn't planned till the very end—apart from the epilogue, of course, ahem). So, in having said that I have to apologize in advance for any possible plot holes and/or confusing/contradicting occurrences along the way. I have tried to the best of my ability to think up ways to tie it all together, but I know that I have not succeeded at that as well as I had hoped. But. Life is one big lesson, and there won't ever come a day when you can say you have nothing left to learn. Neat, huh?

So. A few things about the posting schedule and the chapters:

There is a total of one preface, 21 chapters, and one epilogue (which may or may not be ready when the time comes for it, since I am still deciding on what I want to do with it).

Update is **ONCE** a week. And it will be **weekend updates**, unless stated otherwise in the A/N's.

Chapters are from various POV's. Bella's, of course. But then there is Nina, Jacob, and Steven Kirkland thrown into the mix. _Unwritten_ isn't only a sequel, but a self-appointed challenge to push myself out of my comfort zone.

No more 10k + chapters, either. Some are even shorter than 3k these days. Another challenge was to be concise and to the point, a preparation for Original Fiction which usually has a word count of 60 000 to 80 000 for the average novel. If you have seen the word counts on my fics you can see they all push waaaaay through that limit… some hit the double amount (or is it even more?) To make up for it, however, I will post three to four chapters at a time, meaning the last batch will be up five weeks from now—providing all goes as planned.

**Important to keep in mind**: I have VERY limited knowledge of the legal system and authorities in the US (I would say little to none), nor am I familiar with the way the U.S. Marshals work. All that you will see in this story is just a figment of my imagination, built on fiction and not facts. I repeat: This is FICTION, peeps.

Lastly, no A/N will be the size of this—some might be omitted altogether! And for that purpose I will take this opportunity to thank the incredible and totally AMAZING **MeraNaamJoker** for her unwavering friendship and support throughout this entire process. You are my kindred spirit, and I love you forever. As always, she has proofed and pre-read, but any mistakes not caught are entirely on me.

**DISCLAIMER****:** It goes without saying, but I will mention it only once: This is in no way, shape, or form related to _The Twilight Saga_ or the characters within (apart from the names and geography), I just owe all you lovely readers the sequel (as promised, yay!) to an original story that happened to be born out of the massive Twilight fandom. If you came here looking for sparkles, you'll only find it in the dazzlingly twisted psyche of Steven 'Fish' Kirkland.

That out of the way, here we go: The _Unspoken_-gang, then, back to take you for one last wild ride. Enjoy!

* * *

**-x][Preface][x-**

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

Wade stretched his legs in front of him. He sighed; the hot black liquid sliding down his throat was heaven. He rested the paper cup between clasped hands, and closed his eyes for the first time in what felt like weeks.

Rubber soles squeaked against the linoleum, a loud sound in the nearly empty office, and Wade cracked one eye back open.

"Tired, Stobes?"

"Nah." In spite of the lack of sleep, Wade's spirits were high—possibly thanks to the overload of caffeine—and he grinned as he said, "Nothing a cup of mud can't fix."

Robert Schantz, the younger man's supervisor, looked down at Wade, regarding him with a skeptical arch to his silvery brows. Wade knew his cynical superior was still looking for signs of slacking after the promotion. Around that same time, Wade got his first WitSec assignment: the Alderson family, formerly known as the Swans. And now he had gotten another one, of sorts. In fact, they were linked.

Schantz pursed his lips, but nodded. "Good. 'Cause you've got a flight to catch."

"Wait, what? You want me to go to San Diego tonight?" Wade deflected a wave of fatigue rolling through his limbs, and sat up straight. He stood at Schantz's bland expression, threw back the rest of his coffee, and tossed the cup in a trashcan before walking out of the Eugene U.S. Marshal's office with a backward wave. "Don't miss me now!"

**-xo][O][ox-**

Their transport stood waiting outside the entrance to Scripps Mercy Hospital, and Wade pitched a quick glance at the young woman next to him. She might have had a couple of weeks to recuperate after she was found wandering down the beach, dressed in nothing but a threadbare t-shirt and underwear, but she didn't look like she had benefited from it much.

On their way to the airport, Wade went through some details with her; she obediently answered when prompted, but other than that gave him the impression of a hedgehog, with spikes at the ready.

"How're you doin' back there, Nicole?" he asked.

At first she appeared to not have heard him, but after a long silence she caught him looking at her in the rear view, and instead of answering asked, "I think this is a really stupid idea." She angled her face away to break eye contact.

"If it would jeopardize the objective of keeping you guys safe, we wouldn't be doing what we're doing," Wade replied in a reassuring tone. "Look at it like this: With your brother's track record of running off to check up on you, I think it's in our highest interest to reassure him that you are alive and that we're not jerking him around. This is a two-way street, Nicole. We trust you to follow the rules, but you have to trust us to do our job—this is us showing good faith."

She offered a reluctant nod, seeming thoughtful. "What about my dad?"

"He didn't want our help, and we can't force him." From the reflection in the rear view mirror, Wade could see this didn't sit well with her.

The two Black siblings' father had signed away his parental rights to keep his son safe. As far as the man's priorities went, his kids came first. Wade wanted to tell Nicole that they would do what they could, but all he really was able to do was to keep an eye out—off the record.

"La Push's out of our jurisdiction," he clarified after a moment's silence.

Basically, Billy Black was a sitting duck in a pen of wolves.

**-xo][O][ox-**

The Aldersons lived a good thirty minutes out of Independence. The father was currently employed locally as a safety engineer, while the mother home-schooled the two younger kids. Their teenage daughter and her boyfriend went to the high school in town.

Wade had no kids of his own, and holding down a relationship had proven difficult, but he could still understand wanting to have small ones close to home. Not only due to younger children being more prone to slip up and say things they shouldn't, but this case was such a delicate one. The Weaver family had been on the law enforcement radar for years, but whenever a prospective witness slipped through the Weavers' fingers, it didn't take long before they disappeared off the face of the earth. In Wade's mind, it was a damn miracle the Aldersons were still alive. He couldn't decide on whether it was sheer luck or a talent for survival that had made Nicole, now wringing her hands nervously in the backseat, last this long on her own.

"We're here," Wade announced, and slowed to turn onto a dirt road. Tufts of grass stuck up in the middle, and the car did a lively bounce as they rolled through the opening in the tall hedge shielding off the yard from passersby.

The house was built in the 1920s, but the previous owners had kept it in good enough condition. Evergreen shrubs clung to the wrap-around veranda, matching the light olive-green paneling, and the garden was dotted by bare-branched, scraggly looking bushes. Two cars stood parked off to one side in front of the garage. Wade surmised Stuart had left for work already, but judging by the blue Golf next to the SUV, the brother must have opted to not go to school in order to be home when his sister arrived. Well, it was a Friday, and nothing exciting ever happened on Fridays.

They got out of the car as the front door came open. The little boy hanging on the doorjamb was closely followed by the mom, who waved at them in a beckoning fashion. "Come on inside before you freeze your butts off."

This woman was the sole reason why Wade hadn't worried about wasting money or space in his stomach on disgusting roadside breakfast. Deb always had something cooking for him when he stopped by.

"You better have some of that amazing coffee of yours," Wade called back, earning himself a good-humored huff, followed by a laugh.

"Who do you take me for?"

Wade trudged up the small gravel path to the house. Nicole, who was walking in front of him, jerked to a sudden halt. "Oops. Careful there," he said, about to step around her, but caught sight of the brother having appeared in the doorway.

Jeremy practically took the steps in one leap and Wade sidestepped just as he swept his sister up in his arms. He looked past them, offering a smile to Deb, and her daughter, also having emerged. They both looked close to tears.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	2. Out From Under

**-x][1][x-**

* * *

**Out From Under**

* * *

_The path to heaven runs through miles of clouded hell / "It's Time" by Imagine Dragons_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

Steven came through the door with murder on his mind.

"Stevo! How's it goin', buddy?"

"It's going."

Steven caught a wicked twinkle in the older man's eyes but measured his steps toward the lockers.

Titus "Mo" Moltrie: a solid guy of forty-six with a canvas of tattoos and a plaited beard, the only hair he kept on his head and his most prized possession. In the six years that Steven had known him, he'd been told every single backstory of each illustration the man carried. Steven thought he was the very personification of _appearances are deceptive_. People usually gave Mo a wide berth, didn't linger long enough on his face to see the child in his eyes. Steven saw right through him, though, and Mo was nothing but a big, soft bear of a man with a mean slant to his scruffy brows.

"Headin' up to see Marlena tonight!" Mo called after him.

Steven sat down on a bench, dropped his bag and began to pull his shoes off. "Getting _more_ ink?"

Marlena was a scrawny girl with a bird-like nose and an innocent smile, and she worked her magic at a tattoo parlor in Scottsdale. He heard Mo murmur something to the woman he was with, and before long he appeared in the doorway.

"Gotta get Kayla's name down now that we finally decided on it. Vic wanted Pearl, but I told her, 'Vic, my baby girl ain't a Pearl, and I'm not discussing it.' _Pearl_," he said, a noise of disgust. "Can you believe that? Who names their precious baby _Pearl_? Come on. That woman's driving me up a wall."

Vic was Mo's wife, and they had five kids: four girls and one boy. Kayla, now that they had settled on a compromise, had been nameless for four weeks while they bickered about what to call her.

"Vic's a good girl, and you know it. Don't lie. You'd be lost without her."

Mo guffawed. "God. Don't ever tell _her_ that."

"As if she'd listen to me."

"More than she does me. I swear, one day she'll be gone and I'll know it was you, talking sense into her."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

If Steven could get a do-over and choose his family, he'd pick Mo and Vic, but that sort of luck was reserved for people like Bella Swan.

Steven said no more, and Mo went back to his appointment.

"Go easy on the equipment, bud. You know they love you."

When Mo said "they" he referred to Nicholas and Jacqueline Kirkland, as in Steven's parents. Did they love him? Jackie, yes. In her own way. Nick? Not a chance.

Six years ago, Nick had brought Steven to Moltrie's Boxing Gym. After a series of detentions, the threat of getting expelled _and_ some after-school incidents, the daddy wannabe put his big ugly foot down and sent him to Mo, the only good thing he ever did as far as Steven was concerned. The only time Nick afforded him a bit of "fatherly love." As it turned out, it was only a means to an end, a way to contain the situation, stopping it from getting out of hand. Or, as Steven's personal favorite and the God-honest truth went: sweeping him under the carpet. Can't have almighty detective Nicholas Kirkland of Avondale Police Department housing a delinquent piece of shit for a son with anger-management issues, can we?

Fuck him. Seriously, fuck that cocksucker. He no longer dictated Steven's life.

Steven had work to do: papers due for school, research, laundry, a trip to the pet shop to buy food for his Siamese fighting fish. The only thing Nick and he had in common, frankly. Nick owned them too, once, but not any longer.

Steven still could see it in his mind's eye. Nick and Jackie came home from a company dinner thing one night and found the baby-sitter in hysterics in the kitchen, and a twelve-year-old Steven repeatedly calling her an uppity whore and slut for not accepting his exotic entré a la Fighter Fish. He'd even gone through the trouble of arranging the tiny filets in a beautiful display on an appropriate gold-plated dish from Grandma Nick Kirkland's hand-me-down collection. It was a work of art, and the audacity of the baby-sitter to not at least acknowledge the effort was quite revolting. She didn't need to know he did it just to spite Nick, and that he never expected her to eat her employer's fish in the first place. She had put on a braver show than he gave her credit for. But then the rumor spread and it became an unintended success. When it came to his own fighter fish, however, he treated them with the care they needed, gave them all the nurturing gorgeous creations deserved.

Anyway. Basically, he had a ton of crap to do, people to see, places to go, and yadda yadda yadda. What he didn't have time for, however, was his head.

He strapped his gloves on and went straight for the heavy bag.

Nick didn't control him. Nick had no hold over his mind. Nick wasn't his superior and he sure as hell wasn't his dad.

Steven ruled his breathing, relished the numbing ripple through his body on impact.

Fuck that cunt. Motherfucking twat.

Harder. Faster. Hate didn't own him; he owned _it._ He owned _him._

_You're mine. I've got you now._

**-xo][O][ox-**

Steven moved out of the family home when he got accepted into University of Phoenix to study Criminal Justice. They didn't miss him and he didn't miss them. They didn't even miss the bucks they lavished him with to pay for the apartment, fifty percent of tuition fees, a monthly allowance . . . and he had no scruples taking it. Money was easy for them to part with if it meant he was out of their hair, no longer a sore thumb sticking out to remind them of the imposters they were.

Fake fucks.

A few days after the Swans vanished, Steven found Nick in his study with a bottle of scotch, staring at his badge, perspiration collecting in the deep lines of his shiny, repulsive forehead.

"You look fit for a fight," Steven said.

"Not now, Steven. Haven't you got packing to do?"

"Can't a concerned son inquire about his dad's well-being?"

Nick got up and put the bottle away, then brushed past him. "Tell Jackie I won't be home for dinner."

_Don't get caught now_, Steven wanted to say. "Have fun!"

That's right. Take off. Go visit your whores. Bury your prick and your secrets in them. Cowardly cunt.

_I see you._

**-xo][O][ox-**

Steven's one-bedroom-and-kitchenette apartment suited him well. It had a ton of light, faced south, was spacious and without carpets. He shared the complex with a variety of people.

An old couple two floors down had a daughter who visited frequently with the son-in-law, showing off the budding belly, their rapidly growing two-year-old and the projects on the house they had bought when the news of the addition to the family had lit up their lives. Steven knew this because Mr. Branning, the retired seventy-three-year-old executive (not-so) proud granddad with a lazy eye, would always excuse himself to catch up on recycling when they came over. A seventy-three-year-old executive willingly running garbage up and down the stairs? No. But Steven would bump into him as he muttered to himself and continuously pushed at his sliding glasses when taking that damned trash out.

A twenty-six year old elementary teacher with a romantic dilemma lived across the hall. She had a habit of hiding outside the door lately whenever her boyfriend of 8 months came over, said he was acting weird, making cryptic suggestions of taking a trip somewhere, spending some quality time together, and she was convinced he was about to pop the question. She wasn't ready, she wanted to expand her horizons, and Steven had thought about offering, but came to the conclusion that it was a potentially awkward situation that could lead to socially fatal consequences.

Don't screw around where you sleep: new adopted rule for self-improvement.

The new message alert flashed in greeting when he got back from Mo's. He listened as he went to pick out an outfit for his flight to San Diego.

Message 1: _Hey, this is Chad from Fletcher's Tire and Auto Service. All checked out and I'm calling to tell you your car will be ready for pickup this afternoon._

Perfect timing.

Message 2: _Hi, 2 B calling, Fish, are you there_?_ I did what you told me and it's still not working. Got time later_?_ I've got lasagna in the oven, so you won't have to starve while taking a look. Okay. Let me know_?

Thank God he had a flight to catch. He'd had enough leg-humping for one week. There were no hornier breeds than Greyhounds. And Edwin could fix his own girlfriend's laptop.

Message 3: _He booked a trip. He booked a trip to Hawaii and I don't know how to say no. What the fuck do I do_?_ Gah. Okay. Sorry. I'll see you later in a quivering heap outside my door._

Goddamn motherfucker. He needed to stop indulging conversation with the girl across the hall.

Message 4: _Steven. . . . _Oh, he loved it when she used that condescending tone with him. _I. . . ._ "No, no, no. C'mon. Don't you hang up." Click. "Self-important bitch."

Message 5: _Okay. So that was, like, lame-o. No. Fuck that. Seriously. Fuck this. What's your problem_?_ No. I'm not doing this. Fuck you. _Click.

Steven felt himself smile. "'Atta girl."

Message 6: Female growling. _I hate you. I don't even get what your deal is. First, you fuck _them_ over, while fucking me, I might add. And then you're a total asshole about it. And now, _now!Months_ later, when I'm finally learning to get on with my life you start calling me_?_ Honest to God: Go fuck yourself, you arrogant . . . spiteful . . . son of a bitch man-whore_! Click.

Steven chuckled. "Working on that, chica."

Right. So Nina wasn't quite ready yet. As much as it was a bad idea, he wanted to see her. He checked his watch, reluctantly admitting he didn't really have the time to squeeze in a quick visit. Nina wouldn't let him in the house anyway, that much he knew, so he let it go.

Steven called a cab while finishing his packing.

After picking up his car from the repair shop, he swung by the Summer residence, just to look. In any case, that was what he told himself.

Nina's mom's car wasn't in the driveway, so he slowed down.

"Drive away, Steven. You have a flight to catch, so just drive away."

He was a pussy though, and soon found himself knocking on her door. It opened after exactly six seconds because Steven couldn't not count them, and he wedged his foot in the crack when she saw who it was and tried to close it.

Nina glared. "What do you want, asshole?"

"Aw, come on, don't be like that." He gave her his best smile and kept it even when she grimaced but refused to reply. "Aren't you at least the tiniest bit happy to see me?"

Firming her chin, she said, "Glad to see you're as big a douche as ever, which reminds me, yet again, I'm so much better off without you." She folded her arms and trapped her hands, the gesture telling him she was still the same old Nina. _You know you want me, chica._ Then she seemed to catch on, and she made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat before yanking the door open. "Five minutes, and then you leave."

He followed her inside.

"I could do a lot with five minutes if you're up for it." He chuckled when she stopped to throw him a dirty look. "Or not." He winked, and she put her hands up against his chest as he took a step to walk past her.

"Okay, that's far enough. Spill." Behind the hard light in her eye Steven detected the weakness he'd taken advantage of more times than he should have. Looking down at her hands against him, he lifted one of his own to skim a finger along her wrist; she snatched her hands back. "Ugh. Never mind. You know what? I changed my mind. Just leave."

"What? Already?"

"Yes. Already."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you didn't feel that."

"I don't know what you're talking about, unless you're referring to the sudden urge I just had to throw up."

Steven shook his head as he inched closer. "You have to remember I know you a lot better than that."

"I'd rather forget," she said, smacking his hand out of the way when he tried to touch her face. Not discouraged, he laughed. "And so should you."

"What if I don't want to?" Steven looked at her without humor. Nina had backed into the doorway to the kitchen, and grabbed the post to steady herself. Her chest rose and fell.

"I want you to leave, now," she whispered. As he watched her throat, she swallowed, and the way her pulse jumped beneath her skin told Steven he had succeeded, better than intended. An odd sensation flitted through him, clenched his gut, but he straightened and backed two steps before he could identify it.

"You should be careful who you invite in," he told her, after which he turned and left.

On the way to the airport he sent a message to Edwin, letting him know he'd be out of town for a few days. Edwin knew this meant he had to feed Steven's fish while he was gone. He could have asked Andy, but he didn't want his kid brother snooping around his apartment without supervision. Besides, it meant Nick would know he was out of town, something he didn't need to concern himself with.

It was time to move on to plan B.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	3. Unbalanced

**-x][2][x-**

* * *

**Unbalanced**

* * *

_Turn my sorrow into treasured gold. You'll pay me back in kind and reap just what you sow. / "Rolling In The Deep" by Adele_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

Such bullshit. She was bored out of her mind and not even _True Blood_ was helping. Cara was at some family dinner thing, Stacy was working, and if she didn't hear back from Abby anytime soon there would be nothing else to do to keep herself busy besides the chores Nina's mom, Alleen, assigned her with each time she worked nights.

"Ugh. Boring." Pressing the off-button, Nina let out a frustrated groan before she dropped the remote and flung an arm across her face. She rolled to her stomach to open her laptop. Maybe someone else was having a weekend from hell, and hung around in their room Tweeting random crap she could comment on, for the sheer hell of it.

Or serious hotness sent from heaven above . . . "Oh fuck, you are totally not fair." All previous woes flew out of her head after she followed a link posted by her third cousin up in Nebraska. "I'd be so dead if my mom walked in right now," she assured the silence with reverent vigor. Shawna, the distant relative, was a few years older than Nina, but just as big a perv, and now Nina sent a quiet prayer of thanks to her for the pure sex wanking on her screen. "Dude, your girlfriend is the luckiest bitch, ever. Unless you're gay, in which case . . . _please, _in the ever-loving name of all the dirty hoes out there, _let me watch._"

The double-beep from her cell made her jerk upright and instinctively slap the lid to her laptop shut. She swore, "Shit on wheels," and opened the text. It said: _Get your ass down to Shane's. You got 20 mins before we come n get ya._

Nina didn't need more prompting. She stripped out of her PJ's immediately and went for the closet. "Shorts or tights?" Peering out the window, she saw clouds accumulating and opted for tights and a long tunic shirt, then sat down to give her face a speedy touch-up; she applied some liner, mascara, and a little gloss. "You'll do," she told her reflection and twisted her hair into a careless bun.

The housework would have to wait till later—unless she ended up staying the night, which happened more often than not these days. The choice between home alone and Shane's place was easy, even with the band's weird hobby of browsing YouTube for all the music throughout history nobody had ever heard of.

Ever since Bella's family upped and left last summer, life had been a complete drag. If it hadn't been for Abby and the rest of the gang, and her new therapist, Dr. Mercer, who had stepped in after her old one decided to retire, Nina might have possibly been driven bat-shit crazy by now.

Alleen had thrown a fit when Mrs. Donahue-Whitman flaked out on her daughter, which was her take on the early retirement, and what kind of a professional cuts such an important relationship in the middle of treatment? Nina on the other hand couldn't have cared less, since now her therapy sessions were at least interesting when the person she got locked in the room with for an hour didn't smell like catpiss and old cheese or had massive veins popping up beneath her stockings that she could _not_ quit staring at since the old lady constantly crossed and uncrossed her legs.

She would not admit it out loud, but Dr. Lucien Mercer was _totally_ doable, and if it weren't for the uncoolness factor of screwing your therapist, and the risk of getting him caught and herself degraded, she would bare her soul and feign a mental breakdown just so she could crawl onto his lap and beg for him to take it all away. And judging by the way she found him watching her sometimes, she would be willing to bet the amount of encouragement required was zero to nil. She needed to do _something_, just to see just _how_ interested he was—for authenticity research for her fantasies . . . .

Thank God she had a therapist, because she was sick. _Severely_ fucking sick in the head.

This would have been a conversation perfect to indulge with Bella, whose reactions to Nina's twisted mind were always hilarious. She _could_ have talked to her, if she really were the bitch most people thought she was. Since Bella wasn't completely out of reach for all of eternity.

Before the Swans left, Bella turned up with Jacob one night to tell her goodbye, and then they had spent two hours ironing out details to set up a means of emergency contact, in case of whatever horrors their psychopathic stalkers could cook up. Nina used the plan to remind herself she wasn't abandoned, but there was no way in hell she would jeopardize the safety of the Swans by actually contacting her best friend. God knew Nina wasn't a great example of the sort herself, but what made Bella her best girl, unique in every definition of the word, was that she never once pushed Nina to be anything else but who she was, and even if she knew she was screwed up in all the ways from thoroughly to indefinitely, around Bella she felt like that was totally okay. And she missed that, fiercely.

The guys in the band had similar qualities, but the difference was that she had known Bella for forever, and in her presence Nina wanted to care, she wanted to let her guard down, and she didn't know how to work on that now, even if Dr. Mercer did his best to help in her best friend's stead. It made her just a little frayed around the edges; a little jumpy, even. Some shadows seemed longer than others, some silences smothered too many sounds, and some corners were too dark. Sometimes, like now, when she locked up the house and slowly made her way down the paved path alongside their house toward her car, the fine hairs on her neck stood up. The evening hadn't set in quite yet, and the parts of sky that peeped out from behind the clouds didn't glow comfortingly in waning daylight. But it seemed later than it in actuality was.

So maybe she dwelled on the reasons behind the Swans abrupt departure a little too much. Just like she strongly suspected that Steven Kirkland was somehow involved. Whether that was because of his dad, or the other way around, she couldn't tell. Either way it didn't make her feel any better about that she hadn't heard from him since that last visit, which had _not_ helped her paranoia in the least, since him showing up in and of itself had freaked her out.

All she knew was that he attended University of Phoenix now—before the Swans left and she stopped seeing him on a regular basis, she accidentally found his letter of acceptance to study Criminal Justice—so even though she didn't know why he'd suddenly gone AWOL, she hoped his studies were the sole reason for his absence.

Everything about Steven left her in a haze of uncertainty. Was the secrecy he carried around with him an aura all his own, or was it a reflection of the wariness that made her keep everyone around her at an arm-length's distance? One thing she knew for sure: she hated not being able to tell the difference. Even after having let him closer than anyone had been allowed before.

Now more than ever, Nina wished she'd had the guts to be open about herself with Bella, but mostly for the selfish need to have someone put things into perspective for her. But no one should have to shoulder the responsibility of making the world make sense to those who didn't put in the effort of working it out themselves. Nina knew too well what that felt like, having a mom that relied on her daughter to constantly assure her the choices she made didn't make her a bad person, and that had always been the persuasive motivator behind keeping some things to herself.

On her way down to Mountain View Park where Shane lived, Nina sent a quick text to Abby, letting them know she was on her way. As she continued through the streets of Avondale, she felt thoroughly awful. It was the worst onslaught of melancholy she'd encountered since that day Steven dragged her into his car to paint her a picture of the nightmares everyone around her would suffer through if she didn't back off.

If only she could talk about _these_ things and feel it would actually make a difference. That was the catch though, right? Should she somehow find a convincing argument to want to loosen her tongue to genuinely talk about things that mattered, she still couldn't get past the fact that she wasn't supposed to know half the things she knew.

It just wasn't possible. She couldn't share the heart of her misery without the risk of Dr. Mercer contacting the Marshals about the breach in their tight safety policy. And then who knew what complications that might incur for the Swans?

Maybe one day, fifty years from now, when all the assholes chasing them were shooting up Viagra in their wrinkly dicks and withering away in nursing homes, maybe then it would be safe to hook up with her girl for some coffee and bingo. The thought made her shudder, but the odds for an earlier reunion didn't look good.

**-xo][O][ox-**

Agua Fria High: she was so tired of the entire institution. The only reason she went was because if she didn't she would end up a sad case at the mercy of Welfare System Deathtrap. Alleen made sure to drone about it whenever it looked like Nina might get anything other than top grades. Her mom wasn't known for being overly dramatic or anything, she just found pleasure in preaching about worst case scenario.

At least some elements of being the supposedly abandoned best friend of the girl who was there one day and next day gone provided entertainment to break up the dullness of the daily Let's Pretend We Care About Academics routine.

It was nothing short of _amazing_ how fast people jumped at any excuse to talk about someone just because they weren't _there_. Bella had been pretty much invisible in school, but add abrupt relocation into the mix and _bam_. Nina had found herself on the verge of laughing her ass off when overhearing some of the discussions about _that tenth grader, you know, Isabella Swan, oh, don't you mean Bella, and didn't she hang out with Nina—_

"Oh my _God_, she's watching us. _Shh._ Yeah, that Nina is still here. Douchebags."

Cara kicked her under the table. "Be nice. It's not their fault they were dropped on their heads as babies. They're suffering developmental deficiencies. Picking on the less fortunate is _so not cool_, Nina. God."

"I've got issues, too. What about me?" She pretended to be bothered when her arm started twitching, and even more so when she couldn't stop pumping her raised middle-finger at the wide-eyed sophomores a table down from them. "I'm _so sorry._ I was so sure I took my meds this morning."

Andy Kirkland passed their table with his bodyguards, making Nina sit back. What he needed lackeys for surpassed her comprehension since no one messed with the Kirkland kids if they knew what was good for them. "And what my brother saw in you I don't know—oh wait, now I remember: He's got dick for brains and I guess you're the go-to girl for that."

Nina held out her hand while picking at the food on her plate with the other. "Put it there, Kirkland. I've got skills your girlfriend could only dream of."

"He needs to find it first," Cara added, and somewhere behind them a few girls giggled.

"Ha. Each and every dick in this room shrivels when you walk in, Henson, not just mine."

Cara popped some chips into her mouth. "Naw. But you know what? The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, so, you'll be okay. Pass it on to your brother, too, will you?"

Stacy kicked both Nina and Cara. "Stop it, already."

"Dude, I'm mentally unstable. Careful." Nina rolled her eyes, then let them stray to Andy who had sat down with his posse, new rulers of the land now that Fish and Edwin no longer kept him from the ridiculous Throne Of Cocks.

"Still seeing that therapist?" Stacy asked.

"Still weighing the odds," Cara whispered.

Okay. So maybe she had mentioned Dr. Mercer on a few occasions . . . Nina shrugged, not really listening. Andy was eyeballing her for king and country, but that wasn't what caught her in muted contemplation. It bothered her that she was sitting there and trying to come up with a valid reason for asking what Steven was up to these days without sounding like she actually cared.

**-xo][O][ox-**

That Friday, Nina found herself nervous about her weekly session with Dr. Mercer and it drove her mad that she couldn't identify why, so she was too wired to sit while waiting outside his office.

The receptionist kept her under what Nina was sure she thought was undetectable observation, and finally Nina stopped pacing to stare at her. The young woman pushed her glasses up and pretended to inspect some forms in the filing slots stacked on her desk.

"You're obvious, you know that, right?" Nina sauntered up to the reception, scouring the clutter until she found a paper clip. She bent forward. "Mind if I borrow this?"

"I'd prefer it if you step back, miss."

When Nina took it anyway, and began to unfold it, the woman stiffly resumed tapping away at the keyboard but said nothing. _What a noodle_. "As I was saying: you're obvious. You know how I know? Right now you're trying to remember the procedure of conduct in case of emergencies, like, for instance, if a patient suddenly goes apeshit—"

"What are you doing with that?"

"—when what you _should_ have paid attention to—"

"Please, miss, put that back, I won't ask—"

"—is that you don't function well under pressure." Nina braced herself against the panel in the window and handed the woman the somewhat straightened clip. "Sorry 'bout that. Working in an office where tons of people come daily with mental issues is not the place for you if you're going to stare at each tic we freaks have."

"Miss Summers," called Dr. Mercer.

"Have a lovely day," Nina said and walked down the hall. She reached the doctor and offered him a serious expression. "I think she should get a pay raise. That job has _got_ to fry the nerves. She's going to need a therapist one day, if she doesn't already."

"Nina," he said in greeting, wasting no time in reminding her why she was in their office to begin with: "Are you feeling a little agitated today?" When she refused his silently gestured invitation to sit down, and instead went to inspect his bookshelves that held nowhere near as many personal articles as when Donahue-Whitman had owned the office, Dr. Mercer took the offered seat himself. Then he waited.

"So how come there's no Mrs. Mercer or little junior Mercers on the shelves?"

"There is no Mrs. Mercer or junior Mercers, but even if there were, I like my privacy."

"So you understand our plight, but still you dig around in people's minds for a living, then take their money for trying to hide it. Sounds like a rip-off if you ask me."

"I get paid to listen. I only help you ask yourself questions. You tell me as much or as little as you want, Nina, you know that. You're in charge here, not me."

_If only I _were_ in charge . . . _Ugh. She was such a ho. "So, what questions do I need to ask myself, Dr. Mercer?"

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Yes, about these questions I'm supposed to be asking myself."

"So there's no reason you antagonized my receptionist?"

"She sucked at being discreet."

"About what?"

"Keeping an eye on me."

"But it's her job to watch the reception area, and you are a patient in our office, so that includes you as well. So, let me ask you again: are you feeling a little agitated?"

"God, you're a bore. Are _you_ a little agitated today, Dr. Mercer?"

"Not particularly." He got up and Nina eyed him as he rounded the light ash-colored desk to pull open a drawer. "I am a little tense, though, so you made a pretty good observation since I like to pride myself with being good at separating my work and private life. Here," he said, and sat down to place a photograph in front of him. "If you're still interested, of course."

"If this is where you show me exhibits of what you do with your victims once you're done with them, this might be the coolest therapy session yet." By the time she had finished talking, she stood next to him and he looked positively horrified.

"Your sense of humor is a little morbid, don't you think?"

"Nah." Nina peered down at the photograph. There wasn't any way of telling how old it was, but judging by the fancy-pants reception, she guessed, "Graduation?"

"Yes, mine."

Nina jerked her head back to stare at him. "Dude, how old are you?"

Dr. Mercer chuckled. "Too old to live at home."

"Wow. So these are the relatives, then, huh? Look at you, Mister I Just Graduated." She had to rein it in because she was pretty certain getting too familiar with the therapist was a very, very bad thing. And, damn, she had just taken the bait, hadn't she?

"It is," Dr. Mercer said, seemingly oblivious to that she had caught on. _Nice trick, asshole._ She would show him. "I'm going to see them soon, and the problem with a big family is that you never get away with anything. A bad combination if you prefer solitude."

"I've just got my mom, so I wouldn't know."

"What about your friends?"

Nina shrugged. "They wouldn't dare push me 'cause I'd kick their asses."

"Yes, I can imagine that." She was willing to bet he had _not_ meant to say that out loud because the apologetic curl to his mouth and the way he half-looked up at her suggested embarrassment.

_I've got you now, dirty man._ He was so busted. But she could play his game. "I have self-esteem issues, I guess," she said and grimaced. "That's what Mom thinks, anyway. And I hide them by playing tough. Straightforward textbook stuff to you, I bet."

"Recognizing the root of something is a very good thing, Nina."

Again she shrugged, then leaned forward to pick up the photograph, resting on her elbows. She watched the picture but paid careful attention to Dr. Mercer, observed his reaction when she swayed on her heels—a readjustment, a little closer—as she pointed out a slender woman who looked like she was trying to escape the Canon moment.

"Love her outfit. Looks like a woman who knows her fashion."

"That's my mother." The inflection in the tone of his voice drew her automatically to face him. He met her eye, and it was so ridiculous, but suddenly she couldn't breathe because his eyes were sheer perfection. "She's like me: she hates big affairs." And then he smiled and she would be so done for if she didn't stand up, right the fuck _now_.

"When was the last time you saw her?" Nina asked and withdrew as casually as possible, but her heart was racing. She had been so close to putting her mouth where it absolutely did not belong. _Way too close._

"Last week." She heard him get up. "Is something the matter?"

Oh, shit. Fuck and shit. "So you're pretty close, then?" she said to keep the conversation going. What had she been thinking trying to play games with an actual _man_? It might work on stupid, horny, and depraved high school boys, but here, in the presence of someone so clearly more intelligent than that, her intuition warned her that she was playing with fire.

His laugh whispered behind her. "Yes, I'm a Mama's Boy, if that is what you are insinuating."

Nina felt the climb of anticipation and throbbing heat in her cheeks, and her heartbeats were hard in her chest. _Get it together, slut. You're out of your league. _"No, not really, but I guess that explains the lack of Mrs. Mercer. Mama's Boys are dangerous to get involved with for a woman who wants to be number one, and I think most do, so that's not a win-win situation when in a mother's eyes no one will ever be good enough for her little boys."

He didn't reply for so long she wanted to turn to check he wasn't touching himself inappropriately or something because that was totally the first thing that popped into her head and for the first time in her life she wondered why, exactly, she was such a fucking whore. One deep breath and then another before she trusted herself to turn with dignity and not sink to the floor like some pathetic lady having a heatstroke under her bonnet.

"Dr. Mercer?" He was staring past her as if he had completely forgotten she was there, so she repeated, "Hey, earth to Mama's Boy?" She waited and when he did look at her something about him had changed.

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, you just caught me off guard."

"Really?" Not likely. "I was just improvising, thinking it would be the exact same thing as with daughters and their daddies . . . Not that I have personal experience or anything, but I'm pretty sure my best friend's dad would've preferred it if she stayed single forever. . . ."

Fuck. _Nice going, shit for brains._

She needed to cut therapy short before she said too much.

"I have to go," she said and left as fast as she could without running.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	4. Dirty Little Liar

**-x][3][x-**

* * *

**Dirty Little Liar**

* * *

_In these promises broken, deep below, each word gets lost in the echo / "Lost In The Echo," by Linkin Park_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

The crash jolted her out of her thoughts.

"Dammit, Jolene. That's the third time today."

"Well, if someone could get a mop out here I wouldn't be slipping, now would I?"

"I'll get on it after these orders," Bella said, and turned back to wrapping the burger. It didn't take that long to clean up some water, so why someone less busy couldn't do it was kind of amazing. But Bella kept her thoughts to herself and finished as quickly as she was able.

"After that, could you do a quick sweep of the floors? You're leaving in ten minutes anyway, right?"

Bella nodded. "Sure," she answered the supervisor. "Right on it."

About twenty minutes later, Bella stood outside McDonald's, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. A shiver claimed her, and she stuck her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket as she threw a wary glance up at the gray sky. The clouds looked like they could open up at any minute, so she prayed her ride would be there soon.

"Jeremy's running late, I take it," said a voice from behind her.

"Looks like." Despite her casual tone, whenever he was late there was that undeniable worry deep in her gut. Bella pulled her shoulders tightly to her ears to ward off a gust of icy dampness. She half-turned her upper body to look at Jolene, whose focus was on the phone in her hands.

"So," Jolene started, "is Jeremy going this weekend?"

"Next."

"I think it's an excuse."

"How so?"

"Your birthday? You know, to go get you a present. That, or because it'll be Valentine's Day the next day."

Oh. Duh. She was just about to reply when a familiar blue Golf turned into the parking lot. "See you Monday," she said instead, winking, and stepped forward. The door was thrown open before she could reach for it.

"Hi, Jer," Jolene drawled, having bent down to peer at the driver.

"Hey, Jo," he said, offering up a neutral smile, and then urged Bella, "Get in before you freeze your toes off." She didn't need convincing, and gave Jolene a wave before closing the door.

"Shit," she stuttered through clattering teeth, and begged, "Crank the heat."

"Sorry I was late. I got stuck in the back helping Craig. A shipment that was supposed to arrive this morning got there twenty minutes before my shift was up."

"Ohh. Exciting day. And I got to mop and sweep. Yay. Go us." Bella laughed at the eye-roll she received. "But it's weekend, so double-yay." Except for that she had a paper to finish, and a math test to study for. The thought made her frown.

"That yay didn't last long." His hand grasped both of hers. "Hey, c'mere." Bella watched as he clasped them between his, alternating between gently rubbing and blowing warm breath to melt the chill in her fingers. Feeling herself smile, she sighed in contentment. "That's better," he said.

"Yeah, it is." She leaned across the console to steal a kiss. "Thanks."

"Any time, fangirl."

**-xo][O][xo-**

They had barely made it a few minutes out of Independence when Bella started struggling with her heavy lids. It wasn't just so much colder up here than in Phoenix, but the light was different, too: a screen of dim glow stretched out above them to prohibit the full force of the sun. The days were tediously long, in spite of their shortness, and a persistent mist clung to the town. Out here on the countryside it was enhanced by the rolling breeze. Vast fields, lush hills, and dense forests sprawled before them. A few cottages and farmsteads marked the miles they drove.

It was beautiful, it really was, but since WitSec placed them here, over six months ago, Bella had caught the flu, _twice_, and it seemed her sinuses were constantly acting up. Jesse, too, got chased by colds and sniffling. Luckily he, just like Ashley, was homeschooled now, so at least neither of them brought home an arsenal of bugs from other kids to make matters worse.

Bella missed Phoenix so much she could cry. She missed sandal straps between her toes, and the bursts of sprinklers in the morning. Such seemingly inconsequential details had grown loud in the odd echo of emptiness they'd left behind. Strange things to miss, she had to admit, but all the same the absence of them filled her with a pinch of sadness, however insignificant it might be in the face of all that she still had.

Her family was safe, Jacob was safe, and so was Rebecca. The Marshals' generous gesture to swing her by after they finally found her had meant so much, to all of them, but especially to Jacob. Of equal importance were the people that wouldn't have to suffer victimization, or become pawns in the game born of a sick mind. Nina could finish out high school without having to look over her shoulder. Jared's compassion and self-adopted role as big brother to Jacob wouldn't get him eyeball-deep in trouble, and the same went for the rest of Jacob's friends, and, subsequently, their families.

This was what reminded her of how close their own family had come to being reduced to a house of cards in the wind—so easily they could have fallen victims, just like the Blacks, to consequences in the wake of a sudden and desperate act of perseverance.

In the week followed by the arrival of Nathan's letter—even though no conclusive evidence was found to point to him—the full weight of reality had smacked down on them all. Most of those last weeks remained a hectic blur through which life as they knew it had become distorted by the ripple from the impact, and once it settled, a new image had emerged: a new town, a new school, new identities. Nothing but what stared back at her or hid beneath the reflection in the mirror outside the window remained of Bella Swan.

She was Katie Alderson now, but through the glass of this perception a new identity had earned her, she finally beheld a version of the world that made her understand Jacob in ways she never before could have.

All the things she couldn't share, or talk about—memories, a thousand experiences—without first making sure no one who couldn't know was there to hear her. It was surprising how easily something could slip out in a passing conversation to contradict the image of herself which she was selling. This resulted in avoiding situations that invited the possibility of a blunder. This meant succumbing to silence. A wordless abidance that she, herself, had stood cluelessly on the outside of for three years before Jacob allowed her a glimpse behind the facade. He had been all alone, though, and for such a long time. The strength she now saw in him made her suppress her own wish to sometimes flail and scream at the barricade separating her from her old life. After all, one piece in the puzzle had been left unsupervised, untouched by the authorities: Steven Kirkland. And Bella had no way of knowing, except for once a month, that the cops' decision to leave him alone had been justified.

At least she had that, she told herself at such times as these, when she found herself sucked into that place where worries wanted to pull her under. And she had Jacob to thank for coming up with the idea of the mailbox, which he had gotten in Tillamook after procuring a fake ID. It wasn't playing by the rules, they both knew that, but how would she have been able to walk away with all lines severed? She wasn't made of the right kind of tough stuff. Even knowing the risks, and despite the promise to her parents of no more lies. And so, once every month, Jacob found a way, and a legitimate excuse, to travel the seventy-something miles to the coast.

Next visit to Tillamook was coming up, one week from today. The alibi this time was a fishing trip to Oceanside State Park with Craig, one of the guys Jacob worked with, and his dad. Bella wouldn't be going with him, but that was only because they didn't want to risk being seen together in a place so far away from home.

As much as she tried to find things to occupy herself with when Jacob wasn't there, Bella couldn't help the nausea that lodged itself in her belly and didn't let up until he returned. The same questions filled her mind every time. What if Nathan found him? What if someone followed him back? And what if Nina had sent them a letter? How bad would its contents be? Still, without the correspondence Nina wasn't far out of mind, and neither were Bella's cousins and grandparents, nor Jared, Abby, Henry—heck, even Shane and his boob obsession.

A little smile worked its way onto her lips._ Yeah, even you, Tits,_ she thought behind closed lids.

"What am I missing?"

Bella's lids fluttered open. She covered a yawn, and lifted her head from the window. "Oh, just Tits." Jacob's brows jumped up in a surprise. "That is—I'm not implying you need them, you know? I meant Shane."

He let out a sigh of relief. "And here I got scared you caught me when I was trying your bra on the other day."

"You did not." But she glanced at him suspiciously.

With a dismissive hand-gesture, he said, "Nah. Don't worry, they don't reach . . . Uh, that is. . . ." Jacob pursed his lips as she gaped at him.

"Jake."

Jacob burst out laughing. "I'm kidding! You should see your face."

"I'm not sure whether to be disturbed by that you'd even want to make me believe you did." It had perked her up, though. She shifted to sit straight and they continued a lighthearted banter for the remainder of the drive.

**-xo][O][ox-**

One week later Bella sat on an upside-down, painted-white crate, deep in thought. Jacob's acoustic guitar nestled on her lap.

Once, there had been horses in this very room—long before the Swans bought the place—but now that part of the barn was gutted and refurbished. The dark-red, rough paint job that now covered the walls had been a unified effort. Ashley and Jesse had been on the painting team, while Charlie had done the wiring for the electricity, to provide juice for lighting, heating, and the amps. Renée had sewn the covers for the pile of large throw cushions in the corner where Bella would usually stretch out with her laptop while studying or watching Jacob play.

Bella stroked the strings, back and forth, and tried to focus on the metallic swishing rather than let herself be lulled by the rhythmic patter of rain on the tin roof.

Jacob had taught her to play over the past few months, and perhaps she wasn't all that good at it, but when he was gone, far away, in a place where the sole purpose of the visit had something to do with their past, the texture of strings beneath her fingertips, and the sleek curve of his guitar, brought her a measure of comfort. Regardless of the distance, she felt close to him, and it was in this slightly melancholy yet contented state Renée found her.

"Hey, baby," she said, and Bella almost lost her grip on the guitar. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or ashamed lying came easier these days. Either way, convincing or not, a tiny pebble of guilt settled in her belly. "Is it lunchtime?" She stood and walked over to the stand to put Jacob's guitar back.

"Naw, don't put it away yet," came a familiar voice, just as Bella released the neck, and Jolene appeared next to Renée. "When are you going to let me hear you play?"

_Oh, shit_. She had completely forgotten Jolene would be stopping by. Bella offered a smile to her mom, who turned to leave, but not before letting them know, "Lunch will be ready in twenty."

"Thanks, Deb!" Jolene hollered over her shoulder, to Bella she said, "C'mon, Katie." She ambled over to the corner to sink down on a round, rusty-brown plush pillow. They had scavenged fabrics from furniture beyond help, and this particular pillow was made out of what they had managed to salvage from an old 70's couch.

"No," Bella said, and instead picked out a green, square seat with tiny knots peppering the surface. "Sloths'll fly before I put on a concert. But if Jeremy gets back early, I'm sure he'll be game."

"Sweet." Glancing around the room, she asked, "What're you guys going to do with all this when his dad comes back from Afghanistan?"

Bella shrugged. As the story went, Jacob's dad was overseas, and Charlie and he were old childhood friends. When Jacob's dad had to go away for work, having had no other family in the area and with his mom's whereabouts unknown, Jacob had come to live with the Swans. "I try not to think about it too much," Bella said, and she couldn't have been more honest, even if Jolene didn't know the real truth behind that statement.

"I guess the odds aren't that great, what with all the stuff going on over there," Jolene said comfortingly. Bella pulled her knees up to rest her chin, a frown sculpting the space between her brows. "Another year and you'll be 18, then you can move out together. Hey. Speaking of birthdays." Jolene began rummaging through her shoulder bag and came up with a gift-wrapped object, its shape suspiciously reminiscent of a DVD.

"You didn't," Bella said, and stared at Jolene's ready-to-burst grin.

"I know it's too early. But what're birthdays for, if not for at least one day a year getting exactly what you wish for?"

"Getting what you want for _two_ days a year?" Bella said, returning the grin and accepting the present. Her birthday wasn't until tomorrow, but Jolene had an impatient streak, and with Jacob gone, Bella felt a great deal of gratitude toward Jolene's thoughtfulness. "Thanks, Jo."

She waved her hand. "Well, open it!"

"Okay, okay." Bella laughed. She already knew what it would be before she tore the paper off. She raked her eyes over the cover, reverently cooing, "Oh, my baby, how I have waited for you," while kissing it.

"You're nuts."

"I know." Turning to Jolene, Bella said, "Let's watch some Linkin Park."

"Oh yeah, I hoped you'd say that." Jolene dug into her bag once more, and this time pulled out a big packet of peanut m&m's.

"We're totally going to ruin our appetite."

"We totally are."

Renée popped her head in to check on them at some point, but left again with a chuckle and a shake of her head, having found them lax across the pillows, the laptop, which they used to watch the DVD, resting on Bella's stomach and the half-empty packet of m&m's on Jolene's.

When they finally found the wherewithal to get up to leave the barn and walk across the backyard to the house, the sun had already begun its descent behind heavy clouds.

Usually, Jacob would send Bella a message as soon as he'd visited the mailbox, but when she checked her phone, no alerts lit up the screen.

Bella and Jolene barely avoided a collision with Renée when they entered the kitchen.

"Wowchie," Jolene exclaimed. She caught herself against the doorjamb and Bella's reflexive grip to keep her from toppling over.

"Lord, I'm sorry," Renée said under her breath. She found her daughter's eyes, and instantly Bella knew something was wrong. "Mind if I grab Katie for a minute?" she asked.

"Sure. I gotta go potty."

Under any other circumstances, Bella would have laughed at her friend's choice vocabulary, but the tightness around her mom's eyes seized all humor she might normally possess. While Jolene disappeared out the other end of the kitchen, Bella followed Renée to the front of the house, to her parents' bedroom—it still acted as the family conference headquarter.

The door closed and Renée turned.

"Mom," Bella began.

"Try not to freak out now, baby, okay? But . . . Jake's missing."

Bella's mouth remained half-open, a fixed shape, together with her tongue and the words she'd held back when her mom spoke. She didn't breathe, she _couldn't_ breathe.

"I just got off the phone with Craig's dad, and they stopped in Tillamook to get something to eat. Jake left—said he was going to get something from across the street, and that he'd be back soon, but he didn't come back. They've tried calling him, but his phone's turned off. I don't know what he's thinking, baby."

"He'll be back," Bella heard herself say. "He probably got held up." She wanted to smack herself for the strange response, but it seemed like someone or something else had taken over her body while she stood by, dumbly wondering if there was any chance this was just a joke, and what a bad one at that.

Hands took a steady hold of her. "Bella," Renée said in a low voice. "Did he say anything to you? Has he said _anything_ that would make you think he's—"

"No," Bella said firmly. "He didn't run away. He wouldn't run away. There's no reason for him to do that anymore. We're safe now; everyone is _safe._" She looked at her mom, blinking against a rapidly building burn. "Right? We're safe . . . aren't we?"

"I'm calling the Marshals," Renée said, and reached for the phone.

Disregarding what her mom had told her about Jacob's cell, Bella dialed his number from her own, and was soon prompted to leave a message. It didn't make any sense. No matter how she tried to come up with a plausible explanation, she couldn't. Not one that would set her mind at ease, at least. Either he had disappeared willingly, or someone had made him. Unless . . . Had a letter arrived from Nina? Was she in trouble?

As she stood there silently ransacking the situation, Renée's voice faded to a soft murmur in the background. Sudden knocking gave Bella a start, and her mom cut off to call out, "Yes?"

"Is Katie in there?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, Dad," Bella said, and glanced quickly at Renée, who gave a nod toward the door.

Charlie looked past Bella when she opened the door. Renée must have gestured for him to come inside, since he said, "Jolene's looking for you, kiddo," and walked into the room, the closing door ushering her into the hallway. The lock turned, announcing privacy was desired.

Bella stood there, limbs heavy with indecision, yet each nerve in her gut tingled for action. What should she do? From the living room she heard Jesse debating with Ashley about what channel to watch, and between presenting their arguments, the chopped up chatter and music gave away the constant switching of channels.

The water was running, and Jolene stood at the sink rinsing a glass when Bella came back to the kitchen. She made a poor attempt at neutralizing her expression.

"Is everything okay?"

"Too many M&M's," Bella replied lamely. Were she Jolene, she wouldn't be convinced in the least. Somehow, though, she was in luck.

"Tell me about it. I'm never eating that much ever again." She peered down at her middle and patted it. "Someone's getting on the treadmill," she added, and sighed.

_Stop it_, Bella wanted to say, but her voice decided to abandon her the moment there was a double-tap on the front door. She pivoted and went to answer with barely restrained pace. At the last moment a sudden and uncontrollable fear hit her and she snatched her hand back. What if the person behind the door was whoever was involved in Jacob's disappearance? What if—

"It's probably Keith." Jolene opened the door before Bella could stop her or even tell her _no_.

The blond, five foot, eight inches-something guy on the other side of the door was, just as Jolene had predicted, Keith. "Hey, Jo. Katie. Ready?"

"Hey," Jolene said. "And hold your horses. I didn't ask yet."

Relief and confusion surged through Bella with equal force. "Ask what?" Keith was Jolene's brother, but she wasn't sure why he was standing there.

"Captain Intelligent here decided to start driving before calling me, until I was in the bathroom of course, and asked if we wanted to go to the movies."

"It was a spur of the moment thing," he said in his defense. "You girls are supposed to dig spontaneity."

"More like, Sharon ditched you for the night and you didn't want to waste the tickets. Am I right or am I right?" Jolene flashed him a smug smile.

"More like, it's Katie's birthday tomorrow, and I thought I'd be a nice guy, but I forgot my sister's a royal pain in my ass."

"What movie?" Bella asked.

"I—"

"Justin Bieber," Jolene said.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? No. _I Am Number Four_," Keith amended.

Bella grasped at straws, feeling a lump rising in her throat, but the sob escaped her despite her efforts. "I'm sorry," she said and averted her face. "Give me a minute." She ran for her room.

"What'd I say?"

**-xo][O][ox-**


	5. Back In Town

**-x][4][x-**

* * *

**Back In Town**

* * *

_And I felt like a child in a world full of men / "Walk In The Rain" by Passenger_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

Coming up with an excuse to get away for a little while was easy, and neither Craig nor his dad were difficult to persuade to let him visit the mall across the road alone. Picking out a last-minute present for a girl's birthday meant shopping, not a thing on the top of the list of what two guys desired most on empty stomachs. Jacob's own stomach put up a convincing argument the farther away from the smell of sizzling steaks and hot fries he walked, but all he had to do was to get in, check the box, get out, then quickly go buy some bullshit thing and wrap it up to pose as a gift.

He already had Bella's real present at home, but they didn't need to know that.

When he found a padded envelope in the usually empty box, Jacob's first reaction was to shut the door. He turned the key and closed his eyes, breathing steadily.

The deal they made with Nina that day was to use the service for emergencies only, as a last resort. To be caught off guard, now, when here was proof their fears had been justified all along, brought to life a perverse and morbid urge to laugh. He didn't know what the contents were, he wasn't sure he even _wanted_ to know, and yet he was dying to find out. All he could think was, _you moron._

Too late now.

He got out the envelope and griped about the overload of tape as he fought with it. He settled for force rather than brain and ripped it open.

A cheap cell phone and a letter.

Not good. This did _not _look good_._

Driven now only by "dying to find out," Jacob unfolded the letter. It was short, but the hastily scribbled lines made his skin crawl with goose flesh.

_J and B,_

_Mom's dead. I'm so sorry for breaking the rules, but I'm scared and I don't know what to do. Use the phone. Call me when you get this._

_Miss you guys. xoxo_

Jacob swore under his breath. He pocketed the letter and phone and looked around as his mind worked. Nina's mom was dead and the reasons behind it were too tricky to solve for local authorities. But the Marshals must not have caught wind, or Charlie and Renée would know about it. Why else would she have done this? And should he make the call now or wait till later? If he waited he had a strange feeling there would be no _later._

Shit. This was the moment he had feared but had also hoped wouldn't come to pass. That was it: a burning hope, crushed. That was the sharp sting of surprise. Stupid. He'd been so damn stupid, one too many times.

He stalked toward the exit, thinking, _get a gift, get back to the diner, go home, then figure out the rest._

Jacob passed a small Claire's Boutique and paused. Oh, no way. He did not need a reminder. Advertisement Galore: Valentine's Day on Monday. With a groan, he walked on, giving his forehead a whack with the ball of his palm. Bella would forgive him if he couldn't figure out what the hell to get her, even if she shouldn't and he should know what she liked, which he did, but not _this_. _God._ Why did she have to have her birthday so close to Valentine's Day? Finding a birthday present had exhausted the weak skills he possessed. He sucked at this so much.

The only thing he seemed to be good at was sneaking through dark houses at night and into his girlfriend's bed. Like the night just gone.

The rest of the house was quiet, and while he lay there listening for any tell-tale sounds of anyone creeping around in the dark, he deliberated whether or not he should risk sneaking into Bella's room.

So long as he avoided the creaky floorboards.

But if he got caught, and by Charlie, then there would be hell to pay. Renée wouldn't say anything, apart from maybe telling him to be careful so that Jesse or Ashley wouldn't see or hear anything they shouldn't.

He wasn't about to push his luck _that _far_._ That of course didn't mean he didn't want to. Ultimately, the well-being of his ass was in question, so he should play it safe. Not that he thought Charlie would resort to violence, but he wasn't taking any chances. When it came to dads and their daughters, you shouldn't ever let yourself get too confident. Bottom-line: as a guy, you couldn't count on having won The Full Approval. There were always exceptions, and trying to talk yourself out of something was a big fat waste of time. Not to mention damaging to your ego. You'd come out the loser, no matter what.

All things said, he wanted to see Bella. He had to, before he went to Tillamook.

Some things were still difficult for him, even if life was _slowly_ going back to a version of normal he thought he would never have. He had actually started to relax, genuinely relax, from within, and each day didn't feel like a walk on eggshells anymore.

He still had nightmares, but those were becoming less and less horrifying, and occurred more seldom. Those worst ones seemed to have given up on hounding him almost completely; the ones that jerked him out of his sleep to fight the severe pressure in his chest, like his heart was going to punch through his ribcage, and he was sweating worse than if he had done a dozen laps up and down the yard between the house and the barn.

He was glad, though, because the nature of the images that caused _those_ night terrors had haunted him long enough and he hoped he would never have to face that again.

Clearing his head, he cautiously got out of bed to pull some clothes on.

The sound of rusty and poorly oiled hinges whining made Jacob freeze in the open doorway. He searched the dark for any movements. And then a head poked out from the room next to his; it was Ashley.

"Shh," she hissed.

Jacob stared at her, confused, and kept his voice just below a whisper. "Huh? I didn't say anything."

Ashley pointed behind her before putting a finger to her lips, then to herself, and lastly toward Charlie's and Renée's room, and finally it dawned on him what she was planning.

"Ah. Roger that." As she in a painfully slow motion closed the door behind her, he straightened to fold his arms. "Watch out for that floorboard," he warned. Ashley paused, glanced around as if to redraw a new path, and then took a long step to the other wall, throwing him a grateful look over her shoulder. "Excellent work, soldier." He suppressed a snort when she rolled her eyes at him.

Jacob remained where he was until Ashley was safely out of sight. Not before then did he calculate his own path down to where the hallway split into a T. In one end was the laundry and what doubled as a work out station and guest room, and in the other end was Bella's room.

Old houses _sucked_. Jacob stood stock-still so as to not farther disturb the wooden plank that shifted beneath his foot.

"_Phew_," he said when having reassured himself it wouldn't whine and give him away. Taking great care, he continued with as light steps as he could, and finally reached Bella's door. Hopefully she hadn't fallen asleep.

"_Bella_," he whispered through the keyhole, and then waited. He thought he heard her say something, but what, he wasn't sure, so he just pushed down the handle.

Her face was cast in the dim, soft glow from the lit globe on her nightstand; she was definitely asleep. _Shit._ He nearly turned around, but then she shifted a little and burrowed into her pillow and he couldn't leave because she was so fucking pretty and he loved her insanely much and _had_ to at least touch her. He told himself he would touch her face, just her face. _Nothing else_.

He crouched down next to her, elbow on the nightstand to support himself, then paused with his hand hovering above the curve of her cheekbone; she exhaled a sigh through her nose. _Fuck._ The want to crawl down next to her was so overwhelming each cell of his skin buzzed with it. As did his palm, and fingertips, which were now moving down the side of her face.

Bella hummed contentedly and turned into his touch. That alone was enough; his whole body went weak with the warmth that washed through him. Damn, he wanted to hold her so much—he had to.

"I just gotta hold you," he mumbled against her neck as he climbed over her to sink down and pressed each part of him to her as snugly as was physically possible. The comforter was still in the way, but it was a little chilly, and he didn't want to make her cold. She pulled his arm around her and then linked her fingers through his, bringing them to her face. Her breath fanned his skin as she cradled his hand in hers. Soft lips moved against him, making him hold her closer. He kissed her hair, and then her neck, all over—_over_ and over again. Quietly, he told her, "I love you. So much—_so fucking much _I don't even know what to do_._"

He felt her grin as she snorted. "Get under the covers, you cake."

_Oh man_, her voice held that slurred, husky quality of sleep, and he was so done for.

He obeyed, shoved the layers out of the way so he could mold himself to her without barriers this time—not counting his clothes—and hooked one leg over hers, all but curling himself around her. Bella choked out a squeak when one of his hands found its way underneath her t-shirt.

"Aw, fuck, you're warm." His voice shuddered together with the rest of him. "This house sucks and so does Oregon—can't it be summer already."

"I thought you hated the heat," she said and yawned while shifting in his embrace. "By the way, why're you all dressed? Your jeans are _cold_ and they're kind of chafing me."

"Excuses." He lifted his head to nudge her ear with the tip of his nose. "You just want me naked."

Bella shrugged. "So what else's'new?"

"Pervert." Of course, he smiled in spite of himself.

"I've been surrounded by good teachers," she countered in a low tone, and wriggled her ass.

Jacob squeezed his eyes closed but couldn't hold back a laugh, even though he did his best to muffle it against her shoulder. "I'm still with Jared on this one: you're a natural, you freak."

She sighed. "Oh well. I tried, right?"

"Yeah. Had me fooled. Here I thought I'd scored with an angel, and... well, guess I was wrong, huh?"

Bella's elbow jabbed his side. "Oh hi, Sir Douche of Cheese."

"You love me," he whispered. She did, and being loved by this girl was the best fucking thing that had ever happened to him. He had his lows, and sometimes he didn't really think he deserved her, but he kept his mouth shut about that most of the time these days. Bella had lectured him times enough for at least his tongue to learn, even if his head was still a dumbass.

"Yes." She kissed his palm, lingered, and he might have been dying a little when she continued pressing her lips to that same spot, repeating tenderly, "Yes, Jake. I love you."

Jacob nudged her cheek. "Come here." And then she turned to meet his mouth. He was supposed to tell her something, but when she slowly crawled on top of him, all he was capable of was _touching_, and he had to have all that skin beneath his palms. He loved her choice of pajamas; always a t-shirt, and if he was lucky... "Oh shit, you're—"

"Uh-huh." The playful smile pulled one corner of her mouth up.

He groaned and ran his hands up and down her bare ass. Bella hadn't always worn thongs—he should know since once he put his eyes on her over three years ago he hadn't been able to look away, though he had tried damn hard to. Either way, somewhere along the line she got a few thongs, and he had a sneaking suspicion of who had eventually talked her into it. Now, tonight, she wore them, and he could only think that she had somehow been expecting him, hoping he would push his luck. "You knew—"

"Yup," she replied happily before he even finished. Any other attempt to speak was muffled with all tongue, and when she squeezed his hips with her legs, he slipped his hands farther up her shirt to caress her breasts.

This wasn't exactly what he had planned, but he was incapable of prioritizing anything else higher than the girl who meant everything to him. The only thing better than being close to Bella was touching her—or being naked with her, of course, which was where they were more than likely headed by the looks of things.

"I kind of want you," she whispered as their lips separated momentarily.

Although simple words, his entire body surged with heat. "Kind of?"

"Uh-huh." Bella moved down the side of his face, to his neck, kissing it in such a way that made thinking pretty much impossible.

His hands slid up and around her, and he pulled her down so that he could feel her against him. She felt so good he sometimes had to question reality. The months he had had with her to convince himself she was really there with him didn't surmount the years he had spent holding back all that he wished he could tell her, the want to reach out if only to by falsely justified excuse find her arm with his fingertips. Those innumerable moments her breath had stirred the air as he passed her, those countless brushes—her hair against his arm, her palm to his shoulder when she pushed him for teasing her—had ruled his world, had put him on top of it while at the same sinking him, making him feel ridiculously lightheaded and nauseous for both the right and the wrong reasons.

Jacob pressed his lips to her cheek, telling her what he so many times had told himself he wasn't allowed to: "I want you so much it hurts." Because now he could. Now she was here, and so was he, and it wasn't a fool's wish nor a dream.

When he sneaked one hand down between them, Bella returned her mouth to his to smother her whimpers.

"Don't you dare stop," she broke loose to say, all breath and delirious, when he stroked her exactly where she wanted, and he couldn't feel any better, find any haven safer than her arms.

No one would ever silence the burning scars on his broken soul the way Bella did.

The insanely loud crowds drew Jacob back to the now: clusters of girls talking with high-pitched peals of laughter, families with shrieking babies, straying kids using the forest of legs for hide-and-seek to the owners' dismay.

Then the blood in his veins slowed to a chilling pace. His heart gave a powerful thump, tripping him, but he was locked in the gaze of two sharp blue eyes. The mouth twisted downward in an odd frown, but instinct sent sense and thoughts into a chaotic whirl, like paper confetti in a hurricane.

Countless hours, days even, of acting out scenarios and methods in his head that he could never turn into reality. A thousand and one dreams in which he exercised the need to fight back. There had been days he would have sold his soul to get the opportunity for an outlet without repercussions. Jacob had paid an obscene amount of hours and parts of his sanity in turn for self-restraint. Now, today, his wish had been granted, and what did he do? He ran.

Jacob threw himself in the opposite direction, blind and deaf to everything and everyone around him.

He had Bella. He had a family. They had given up everything to help him. He was an arrogant idiot to think there would be no consequences to vengeance, and a reminiscent burn marked the sick part of him that wanted nothing more than to stop running. Face him. Give in. Get _even._

He reached the exit and came to an abrupt halt. His heart thundered against his ribs, in his ears, and for a wild moment he fought to choose the right side of those sliding doors. The predator-like strides, focused determination, the flicker of recognition in his pursuer's eyes as he closed in on him—_we're the same, you and I—_propelled Jacob out into the crisp afternoon air.

While charging full-throttle through the parking lot, he hated himself. For not having the guts to stand his ground. For even thinking about it. For hating himself. It was an unending chaotic struggle between who he had been, who he wanted to be, and who he thought he was. Right now, though, all he wanted was to make sure the bastard came nowhere near the new life they'd all created. At least, Jacob thought, he possessed enough respect for that. At least there was that.

Wheels screeched somewhere behind him, just as he hit a hedgerow at the end of the lot, and Jacob knew a moment's crippling panic. Rooted to the ground, he stared at the dark sedan heading straight for him.

"Move," he told himself, and dove into the bushes. Branches snapped; one caught his face, leaving a sting behind, and then he fell out the other side, barely retaining his balance with both feet on the concrete.

Farther down the street he could see the diner, and he hoped Craig and his dad were occupied with their dinner when he took off, away from them. As he flew down the pavement, dodging pedestrians, ice bit into his face. From the corner of his eye, Jacob saw the car kept up with him, and he surveyed each side street he passed for a promising escape route.

He spotted a movie theater then and turned abruptly.

The doors swung heavily shut behind him, and he stopped in the foyer inside to catch his breath.

"Can I help you?" a guy asked from behind the counter.

"Any premiers?" Jacob said, breathless. The guy blinked. "You know—" Jacob cut off when his eyes came to rest on one of the posters on the wall.

"_Justin Bieber: Never Say Never_?" the guy said.

"Which theater?"

When the guy pointed, Jacob moved toward his new destination.

"Dude! You gotta pay first!"

"Do I look like a fanboy to you?" Jacob yelled out and shoved the doors open. _Thank God for no security guard. _Not that he was dumb enough to believe it wouldn't take them long to get there.

The room was packed, just what he'd counted on, and he ducked down to hurry along the rows on one side. He paused in the front. The occupant of the seat jerked back and strangled a protest with her hand. Moving shapes on the screen reflected in her wide-eyed stare, and Jacob held up one finger to his lips, and then, still in a crouching position, scooted to the front of the seat, constantly keeping an eye on the back.

"What are you doing?" the girl whispered through her teeth.

"Hiding?" he said. She rolled her eyes. "Shh," he ordered when she opened her mouth. Her friend's expression flitted from offended to amused and back again. In spite of the circumstances, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The girl in front of whom he squatted kept staring at him, so finally he said, "Watch the movie, fangirl," and was struck by a sudden and strong longing for Bella.

"Jerk."

It was Jacob's turn to roll his eyes, but he kept his comments to himself. Instead he wondered if he'd allowed enough time to be followed inside the building, and decided it would have to do. He checked the back of the room once more before he got up. "Have fun," he whispered to the girls, and went for the emergency exit.

The corridor lead him to another set of doors which opened up into a courtyard. He saw a few parking spaces, a couple of benches, and a container to his left. He stepped outside, and the door swung shut with a soft click.

He came out of nowhere, and next thing Jacob knew, he was slammed into the brick wall. Pain shot from the point of impact, spreading through his skull, and a gloved hand clamped over his mouth while something cold and hard dug in just below the jaw.

"I forgot how clever you are." The voice was low and smooth, and its owner's face mere inches from Jacob's. Eyes regarded him with strange curiosity. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Nathan added as Jacob made a halfhearted attempt to fight him. The object was shoved deeper into his neck. "One squeeze is all it takes, and as much as you might not believe me, I really don't want to kill you."

Hate, unforgiving and opaque, surged in Jacob's veins.

"We're going for a ride . . . I was going to say 'like old times.' Old habits die hard, don't they?" He didn't wait for acquiescence, but loosened his fingers. "I need you to do exactly what I tell you to do, when I tell you. Do you understand me?"

"Fuck you," Jacob spat.

The way Nathan cocked a brow and tilted his head made him look like a reptile. "Can we not do this the hard way?" Releasing his hold completely, though keeping the gun firmly in place, and patting down Jacob's jacket, he clicked his tongue. He reached into Jacob's jacket pocket to pull out his wallet.

Gritting his teeth, Jacob thought, _I don't give a fuck what you think,_ but said, "Way to go to get someone to trust you."

"Sorry. I haven't exactly spent the past few years planning this reunion, so you'll forgive me for being unimaginative. You know, I'd tell you how I came to be here, but I think we'll save that for later." He glanced at the wallet. "If I look in here, I'm sure there's something with your home address. What do you think?"

Jacob almost laughed and Nathan eyed him oddly.

"Don't worry, I'll give you your wallet back, and I'm not going to chase after your new family. I want to apologize for that, by the way. I mean, what I did. Although I'm sure you don't believe that either. Actually, I know you don't believe it and it _is_ arrogant of me to ask you to, so never mind."

Jacob couldn't speak.

Nathan sighed. "For what it's worth, Jacob: I sincerely regret what I did and I am sorry for the pain I caused you, all of you."

This time Jacob did laugh, but the sound was choked. His throat swelled and throbbed, but it had nothing to do with the barrel pushed into his neck. He didn't know how much longer he could stand there before he gave in to the ugliness that kept threatening to take over. That would, beyond any shadow of a doubt, get him killed. The way he read the circumstances, it seemed like Jacob and his cooperation was the only thing that stood between a lunatic and the Swans.

A sudden weariness filled him so completely his knees nearly gave way under the weight of it. What else could he do? He'd brought this upon himself.

Not trusting his voice to hold, Jacob nodded.

"Is that a 'yes, I'll cooperate'?" If Nathan were surprised, he sure hid it well.

Nothing but the blazing desperation to keep harm away from those Jacob cared about remained, so he swallowed back on any cutting words of defiance and nodded a second time.

Stepping away, Nathan tucked the gun into his coat and offered the wallet in his outstretched hand. Jacob took it after a few long seconds of wracking his brain for a different solution and finding none.

A gesture in the direction of the street. "Let's go then."

They walked out of the courtyard and onto the street. The sedan stood just around the corner in a side alley. On the main road people were passing by, and even though they were only a stone's throw away, the distance between Jacob and them seemed too great. If he made a run for it, would he get shot in the middle of the street? Was it worth the risk? Jacob had underestimated this guy one too many times, and that acknowledgment made up his mind for him.

The car gave out a bleeping sound, and Jacob was motioned forward to get in the back.

"Please," Nathan said when Jacob hesitated. "Don't start making trouble. I honestly don't want to hurt you. I'll be a good host this time, I promise. As long as you keep up your end of the bargain. Now, be a good sport and get in the car."

Jacob clenched his jaw, and reached for the handle. He'd slid into the back seat and strapped himself in when his phone rang.

"Turn that off, and give it here." Jacob handed it over and watched Nathan remove the housing, get the battery out, and then the SIM card, before giving back the now useless husk. Next he got out a lighter, and held the SIM card to the flame; it made a crackling noise and curled in on itself. "As you will begin to notice, at least trying to believe what I say will get you rewarded." He dropped the burnt and shriveled shape in the ashtray, peeled off his gloves and turned to Jacob. An unreadable expression shadowed his face. "Please, don't disappoint me."

No, Jacob thought, he wouldn't. He would be the perfect little puppy Nathan wanted him to be; he would go where he wanted him to go, and do what he wanted him to do. When the time and opportunity came, however, he'd do what he was supposed to have done before running.

**-xo][O][ox-**

Thankfully, there were no further attempts at conversation or small talk after they left Tillamook behind. Determination alone wouldn't help Jacob keep his part of the deal. He struggled to keep from opening the door and throwing himself out of the car while hoping for the best, and to keep from shoving the heel of his shoe into the back of his captor's head. When he started seeing signs announcing they were approaching Portland, he grew cold with resurfacing memories.

Then they turned off, northbound, and passed the state line.

Washington State. Home—what used to be home.

His heart was claimed by an iron-grip. "Where are we going?" From the rearview mirror, Jacob saw he was being watched.

"You'll see," Nathan said over the heavy silence. He must have picked up on Jacob's intent to argue. "I said: you'll see. Leave it at that."

Jacob would be willing to bet the sick fuck got off on the powerplay. He leaned back to watch the familiar landscape outside his window. Over the past few months he had thought that, when all this—the hiding, the running, the secrets—was over and done with, and the Marshals deemed it safe to do so, he would take Bella to see his dad. Hell, he wanted all of them to meet Billy, but those wishes had only been flighty and few. As today proved, what were the chances of any of this going away for good? Unless he saw to it himself.

The miles they drove strengthened the conviction that the only way to make sure the past couldn't hurt or threaten any of them anymore was to erase it. Permanently.

"You still haven't told me why you're doing this," Jacob said, eyes on the rising evergreen forests, growing denser by the mile.

"You'll find out soon enough."

"You do realize I don't really believe any of this bullshit you're selling me, right?"

"I know you don't believe me, but I also know that you don't have any other choice. See, the way this works is based on mutual benefits, and not on trust. Let's call it a business deal, and in business we respect each other's investments. You won't go anywhere without understanding that by underestimating the value of your business partner's investment interests, you're setting yourself up for failure."

Jacob didn't want to antagonize him, he didn't want a counter-answer, but couldn't keep quiet. "I'm not killing anyone for you."

Nathan laughed as if he were genuinely surprised. "I'm . . . What? Sorry. That was inconsiderate of me. No, Jacob, I am not going to ask you to kill anyone for me. Stop worrying about people dying. No one needs to die."

Nausea claimed Jacob's focus, and he didn't speak again.

**-xo][O][ox-**

They made a stop north of Longview, not even halfway between Portland and Seattle, and Jacob stayed in the car while the tank was filled and food was bought from the small cafe attached to the gas station. He did consider escaping, but out here, without a phone, how would he get a warning through?

That was when he remembered the burner phone.

He looked toward the cafe before digging into his pocket. Once the cell was fired up, he suddenly froze. He kicked the seat in front of him. "Idiot. You're a fucking idiot." He went on griping under his breath, and smacked the headrest.

What was to say the phone was actually from Nina? Wasn't it just a little convenient Nathan showed up on the same day he got the envelope, supposedly from Nina? Maybe it was a ruse? Could Nina, somehow—shit, it sounded farfetched when he thought about it—have been blackmailed? Could the phone be bugged? A backup to attain the Swans' new whereabouts, in case Jacob bailed out before Nathan could do whatever he planned on doing with him? How would he know?

In the end, Jacob set the phone to silent and typed out a short text—_tell me something only I, Jake, would know—_to the only number stored in the phone, but he wouldn't send it, not yet. He slipped the cell into his pocket and waited.

The driver's-side door opened a few minutes later. A paper bag was held out to him. "I got you a burger and some fries." Whatever Nathan read from Jacob's face when he didn't accept the offering made him sigh. He opened the bag, grabbed a container from within and slipped a couple of fries into his mouth. In between chewing, he said, "Business partners, Jacob. And as I said, I don't want to hurt you."

_Business partners my ass._ Still, Jacob did take the bag. He stared at the fries and remembered how he got himself into this mess. No one sticking to the rules had ever been harmed in the WitSec program . . . and what now? Guilt and a large dose of shame flushed any small inkling of hunger he might have felt right out of his system.

Once the car started moving again, Jacob angled himself toward the door and sneaked the phone out. He pressed _send_, then closed his eyes and waited.

No sounds.

But Nathan could have set his own phone to silent. No movement, no rustling of material. Jacob kept an ear and an occasional eye out, and resolved to try eating a few fries, if only so as to not appear suspiciously still and quiet. Then it hit him that there might be an accomplice, and it took him extreme willpower to not bang his head against the window. He decided to risk a peek, and saw a message alert. That incorrigibly persistent hope leaped in his chest. Making sure to shove a few more fries in first, he then opened the text: _the almighty one says_ _u jerk off to porn._

Jacob pressed his lips together to stop the relieved laugh, but instead snorted the mashed-up fries out through his nose and started coughing. "Son of a bitch!"

"Are you all right?"

The car started slowing down as Jacob shoved the phone away and tried to speak past the hacking and the searing pain in his nose. "I'm fine, honestly, I'm just a dick. I need a flashlight to eat I think."

"You want me to believe you stuck a fry up your nose? That is the most incredible excuse I've heard in a long time."

The car stopped.

"I'm fucking crying, all right?" Jacob exploded. It wasn't that far from the truth, and if the light came on, there'd be tears to prove it, even if the fries had caused them. "Give me a break. You might think we have something in common, but unlike yours my heart isn't dead and I love my life and the people in it. Not too brilliant for a business partner, are you?" _Please, please, take the bait._ His pulse was up in double-time, and he wasn't far from actually sobbing, except that the only problem with that was that he might laugh, too, from sheer nerves and thanks to the severely screwed up and bizarre position he was in.

The light came on overhead, and those piercing eyes met his over the seat. They widened ever so slightly, then Nathan sank back down. "Clean that up before it leaves stains. That's custom-fitted calfskin, Jacob."

The lights dimmed and the car started moving again. Maybe he'd survive this yet.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	6. In The Mirror

**-x][5][x-**

* * *

**In The Mirror**

* * *

_Where there is a flame someone's bound to get burned / "Try" by Pink_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

Sitting in front of the oval mirror to apply makeup was something Nina had always loved. She remembered the day she did a makeover for Bella; she taught her to apply liner and smudge it to get that extra dramatic effect. In Nina's opinion, the smoky look suited Bella, but her friend hadn't agreed, just like with so many other things. But that had never mattered. She was her _best _friend, and so what if she didn't love makeup as much as Nina did, or always agreed with her? Bella had been there for Nina, and supported her in all the things that did matter. All the memories that she kept closest to her heart involved Bella.

Except this. This memory would never include her, but she would have given anything to have Bella at her side right now.

The shock of black around Nina's eyes today wasn't intentional—she honestly looked like a hung-over panda—and the black dress she'd bought for the occasion lay discarded in one corner of the room. She hated black. She didn't even own any shoes that were black. And she was a total mess. She had _no one_ to tell her it would be okay. Kurt, Nina's dad, was moving around somewhere in the living room, and from time to time something would hit the wall and break, and Nina would flinch and start crying all over again. He was too occupied with his own grief and coping mechanisms to care about Nina's.

An exceptionally loud crash sounded from the other end of the house. Nina hunched her shoulders and slumped across folded arms on the vanity table, smearing the already ruined makeup over the horrid canvas that was her face.

"_Fuck! Can't find nothin' in this goddamn house!"_

Another delicate crunch. It sounded like one of Alleen's porcelain figurines. Oh well. Nina had never liked them, and what difference did it make now when she was gone? It wasn't like her mom would storm in at any moment and chew him out for demolishing her home.

Lifting her head to dare another look at herself, Nina muttered in a shaky voice, "Break the whole house for all I care."

The funeral had been just as awful as everything else that had happened since Nina came home from crashing at Shane's place one week ago. She'd started apologizing the minute she walked in the door, for not doing the cleaning like she'd been asked, and then she had proceeded to cross the living room where her mom sat on the sofa, watching TV. Or so she had thought. Judge Judy had been preaching to some dumbass crackwhore while Nina had wanted to know, "Why the hell do you watch that crap? You know it's all staged, right?" And not until she'd returned with the vacuum cleaner in her hands to ask what Alleen was pissy about _this time_—since she hadn't answered—had Nina really looked at her mom.

For several days she'd thought she'd blasted her own eardrum with her own screams—it wouldn't stop ringing.

First came the cops, and then the ambulance, and the coroner, and the entire house was invaded by strangers in uniforms and bright-colored jackets who hounded her with questions until she'd stormed out and locked herself in the garden shed.

They'd called her dad, who'd been a day's drive away. Then they'd asked her who else to call. Before Nina's brain had caught up with her she'd told them, "Renée Swan," after which the floodgates had opened and she suddenly hadn't been able to stop crying.

Now, one week later, there still weren't any trails or clues as to who had murdered Alleen Summers. The same answer was given, each time Nina asked. They didn't know who, but they definitely knew enough to say Alleen hadn't been a random victim . . . Who the hell would want her mom dead so badly?

When Kurt had arrived back home, they'd brought him in for questioning, but he had several alibis that all checked out, not to mention that Nina defended her dad without question, and she had nearly assaulted that arrogant prick Nick Kirkland, who of course was leading the investigation, for even daring to accuse Kurt. Sure, he and Alleen hadn't been on the best of terms, but Nina only kept thinking, _For God's sake, you don't just do shit like that._

Before her dad got there, though, Jared and Abby had stopped by to pick her up. The first night she'd spent curled up on a sofa at Jared's place, while declining offer upon offer of food and comfort, and dodging phone calls from Cara and Stacy. She settled for texting, but Jared and Abby still managed to talk her ears off. The second night she'd spent with her dad in a motel room. She had watched him down an entire bottle of the clear stuff, the only padding for impact being a box of sweet and sour pork and noodles. After that, she'd assured him she was okay and that she would stay with friends until he got his shit together.

He'd dropped the bomb then: he'd suggested they move to Seattle, since most of his contracts were up that way.

Seattle?

What in the ever-loving hell would she do in Seattle?

First she'd lost her best friend, and then her mom, and now her dad wanted her to leave everyone else because it was more convenient for him? Fuck his job, and fuck his convenience. He could get new contracts. For Nina it was more difficult to make friends than it was for Kurt to get a job. No. Nina was staying right where she was, and if he kept pushing, she'd do what thousands of other kids did every year: she'd run away.

A few days prior, in between that bomb, and the million-dollar question of "Who would want your mom dead?" that bounced around her skull, Nina had fled to her room with one desperate thought in mind. She scribbled a note, and then she excused herself. She told the intruders she needed some fresh air—she couldn't breathe inside that house any longer—and went hunting for a cheap cell phone with her emergency savings. She was selfish, she was scared to death, and she needed to talk to Bella.

Eyes puffed up, and her face blotched and red, she bumped into Dr. Mercer, out of all people, in the parking lot outside the mall. She quickly threw the padded envelope addressed to her cousin on the passenger seat. She still hadn't posted it since she wasn't sure whether or not to _actually_ send it.

Dr. Mercer offered his condolences and the usual "If there's anything I can do—" at which point she reached her lowest of lows and asked him if he would sit with her for a while and talk. He was reluctant, which of course he would be, and before he accepted he probably double-checked the lot ten times over. But he did slip into the car with her and waited for her to speak.

The last thing she had wanted at that point in time was to rehash what had happened with yet another person, and least of all her therapist, a therapist she one week before had found out was way smarter than she was, but the fear of being alone in that moment had trumped pride and discretion and potential embarrassment. She knew Dr. Mercer, even if she didn't know him well enough to feel like it would be all right to spring her personal business on him outside his office. All the same, she was desperate.

Eventually, when she kept stalling at how to even begin talking, Dr. Mercer broke the silence.

"All right. This is highly inappropriate, and I might end up paying for it, but I think that what you need is an extra push. Can I trust you?"

Nina nodded without looking at him or even evaluating what he meant. "Nobody believes a word that comes out of my mouth, Dr. Mercer, so don't worry." God, that sounded like she assumed his intentions were anything other than . . . okay, he did say it was highly inappropriate, didn't he?

"Look at me," he ordered, and the tone in his voice gave her no other option but to surrender to him her total obedience. She knew she looked a mess, and she hadn't thought she was capable of ceasing crying, but now all she found herself concerned with was to keep him looking at her exactly the way he did in that precise moment.

"Nina," he said, and it made her feel like she meant something, like she was dear to someone. When he touched her, his fingers brushed gently down her cheek, and it was so tender and not intimate at all, yet powerful and deep enough to shatter barriers she didn't know existed.

She was weak, so fucking tired, and she missed Bella insanely much, so, of course, when he said, "I'll be whatever you need, you can trust me," she folded and threw herself at him.

His response was not at all what she might have imagined. He folded her into a secure embrace and held her tightly when she burst into tears. Mumbled words of nonsense stirred her hair as he comforted her, and when she was all cried out he urged her to talk about something that made her happy. For a precious moment she felt safe, or safe enough. Sick of fighting and pushing anyone wanting to get close away, Nina gave in. She ended up blubbering for at least an hour about Bella and how much she wished she could've been there.

Before the sun dipped below the horizon, Dr. Mercer convinced Nina to send the letter—it was only a letter and would do no harm. And it wasn't until she dropped it in the mailbox and got home to find Nick Kirkland still seeking clues to Alleen's murder that the reality of it all sank in.

What the fuck had she just done?

**-xo][O][ox-**

Saturday, exactly one week to the day since the last time she saw her mom alive, Nina got out enough clothes to fit in a duffel bag, and turned her room upside down to hunt down each bill she'd ever hidden. With the funeral over and done with, Kurt had cleared out and now he had apparently skipped the country. She reflected on the way he had thrown things around the day before and dully wondered if it would have made any difference if she'd gone to talk to him.

Probably not.

In the aftermath of everything that had already happened, Nina searched long and hard for a response to her dad abandoning her but found only numbness. Now, even more than before, she had no reason to stick around in an empty house. A lawyer would put it up for sale and place the money in a trust until she turned eighteen. She didn't think they'd get much for it when someone had been murdered there.

When she finally had everything she wanted packed and stowed into the Volkswagen, and backed out of the driveway to drive down to Shane's place, she didn't look back. Not even once.

The worst part about it all was knowing that whoever killed her mom was still out there, and what was to say he wouldn't come back for Nina? Whenever those fears grabbed a hold of her, she felt sick with guilt for letting Dr. Mercer talk her into sending the letter, and hoped that somehow it never reached its destination, or that Jacob and Bella had decided it was too risky to go driving so far away from home, or that Renée and Charlie caught them with their secret.

Nina understood a little better now what it was like to live in constant fear of being caught by a murderer.

She remembered the story about Jacob and his sister, and how they'd been locked up and tortured and hoped that Alleen hadn't suffered. It hadn't looked like she'd been assaulted—Nina had walked right past her, for God's sake! And as far as the coroner's report went, it had been a clean death; no signs of struggle. That made Nina both relieved and scared shitless all over again. Relieved because her mom probably hadn't felt much pain, but stunned that the killer had gotten that close, so close that she mustn't even have seen it coming. No evidence to suggest a break-in had been discovered, and that was why they had suspected Kurt, once all of Alleen's friends and coworkers had been cleared. Either way, Alleen must have invited the killer, and been comfortable enough in his or her company to sit back down to watch TV. Or the door had been unlocked, but Nina knew they never left the door unlocked, ever.

She pulled into the parking lot in front of the apartment complex. Only Jared was there when Nina walked in. She dropped her bag inside the door with a loud thud and kicked her shoes off before going straight for the sofa. She curled up in one corner and pulled her knees up, hugging her legs close to her chest.

"Does Henry know how to get a fake ID?" she asked while watching Jared, who stood at the kitchen counter chopping vegetables like a pro. "And where's Shane?"

"He could get you an SSN if you wanted. And Shane's out getting groceries. He better be back before it's time to throw this in the oven."

"You're such a kitchen-bitch," Nina said, and burrowed into a cushion with a yawn. She closed her eyes and wished for sleep.

"Why, thank you. Any gifts of adoration can be sent to Tony. After all, he taught me all he knows."

"I'll make a note of it."

Nina listened to the chop-chop sound of the knife hitting the wooden cutting board and the faint humming of the refrigerator, letting it dull her mind. Her lids grew heavy, and she was almost asleep when Jared started talking again.

"Why'd you ask?"

"Huh?"

"The ID."

She toyed with the idea of taking off several times daily. The thought was extremely tempting. "In case I need to take off. Want to join me? I know! Let's all put our savings together and get a crappy station wagon. We can drive off into the sunset."

"Don't tease me now, sweetheart."

Nina giggled and said, "I'm not," but the uplifting sensation made her stomach feel even heavier by comparison, and tears sprang to her eyes. She snatched the blanket draped over the armrest to cover herself. She hated how the strangest and most inconsequential things made her cry.

"What about Dr. Handsome?"

"What about him?" Shit. Her voice was all wrong now. She heard Jared set down a bowl before footsteps approached. The cushions beneath her shifted when he sat on the edge right next to her, but he didn't remove the blanket.

"Since when were you into hiding?"

"Since everything made me cry and I am fucking ugly when I cry."

"No one 'round here cares about that, sweetheart." It sounded like he was going to say something else, and she almost peeked out from under the blanket to see if he were smiling or not. "I gotta say, I'm taking it as a good sign you want to look pretty around me. Means I've got a chance, right?"

"Shut up."

"I take that as a yes."

"Ugh."

"I know you've got a thing for me; don't deny it."

"Go away."

"Anytime."

Jared went back to the kitchen. Nina shoved the blanket out of the way and pulled herself up to reach for the remote. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jared smiling.

"I'll throw this pillow at your head," she threatened, indicating a cushion.

"Oh, so that's why they're called throw pillows?" Nina growled and executed her threat. He ducked and laughed, putting his hands up in surrender. "Jesus. Can't a guy smile?"

"Not when it's at my expense," she said, sniffing like a petulant child.

"I'd say the pillow's the victim now, but, all right. No smiling. Done." His face smoothed into an expressionless mask, and then he exaggerated a frown.

"Fucking seriously," she said while fighting a grin. "Just . . . be normal, you idiot. Anything but that, whatever that face is." He laughed again but shrugged and said nothing. "Thank you."

After not even a minute of channel-surfing, Nina turned the TV off and decided to stop behaving like a child and go help Jared with dinner.

Later that evening, Abby came over. Henry was acting as a stand-in stage technician at work—the regular guy had caught a nasty bug—and since he knew the owner, he frequently got asked to do overtime when someone else bummed out or for whatever other reasons couldn't make it.

They were all crammed in on the sofa, watching a movie, when Nina's phone beeped. She nearly flew out of her seat, and then said, "Shit," as she wriggled to get her hand into her back pocket.

The message alert said _Burns_, which meant it came from the phone she'd sent to Jacob and Bella. "Oh my God, _oh my God_!" she shouted before she could stop herself.

"What?" Abby demanded.

"Is everything okay?" Jared asked, deep concern in his tone.

"It's—" Nina stopped and looked at their expectant faces. She closed her mouth and bit her lip. "It's, um . . . nothing." She rose from the sofa.

"Oh no, you don't," Abby warned.

"That's right," Jared said at the same time Shane said, "I agree." But then confusion shifted his expression, and he asked, "Wait, what? Who is it?"

"It's Dr. Mercer," Nina blurted. "Just letting me know he got my message about the canceled therapy sessions."

Hardly.

She went for the bathroom, opening the message on the way. It read: _Tell me something only I, Jake, would know._

The sudden joy that exploded in her chest was somewhat dampened by the realization that she had no idea what to answer. Something only Jake would know? How was she supposed to answer that? Bella was the one who knew Jacob, and she had never shared much as far as Jacob was concerned.

Why would Jacob even need to know? Did he think . . . Of course. Why hadn't she thought of that? This would be like some kind of password or whatever, to make sure they were talking to the right person.

Nina considered the gang on the sofa and wondered how pissed off they would be if they found out what she'd done. How much did _they _know, anyway? Bella and Jacob had never let on that anyone else but Nina knew about their relocation.

Casually, Nina called out, "Tell me something no one else but you guys would know."

"Jared farts in his sleep?" Shane yelled, and the other guys busted out laughing.

"Oh dude, what the fuck?"

Nina had to return to witness Abby's priceless grimace.

"Shane wears pink leopard man-thongs?"

"Abby keeps a dildo in her bass case?"

"You keep porn mags under your mattress," Abby retorted, arching a brow at Jared.

"How'd you know that?"

Nina laughed and said, even though she choked up, "Dude, even _I_ know you keep porn mags under your mattress."

"You're so obvious, Schmooze," Abby said, then asked Nina, "How'd you find out?"

"Bella told me once."

Abby burst into a fit of laughter, and Jared's eyes widened.

"What? How would she know that?" And then, if at all possible, his eyes grew larger, almost owlish. "Ah-ha! _She _stole my picture! I knewshe was a closet pervert, but not that she was _that_ dirty. Cute little devil." He shook his head and laughed.

"You're lucky Jake isn't here. He'd knock you on your back for saying that."

"Yeah, lucky me," he said. "Not that I get why. It's not like he's not as much of a pervert as the rest of us. He just never bragged about it."

"Oh, really?" Nina said, her curiosity spiking high.

"Yep," Abby agreed.

"_All_ guys have porn under their mattress, Nina," Shane said.

"If you tell me you didn't know that," Jared said, "I'll demote you."

She huffed indignantly. "Of course I knew that." Not. Well, she hadn't known that about Jacob, anyway. Somehow she hadn't thought of him in terms of _Your Average Guy._ "So, what other dirty secrets don't I know about? And leave out the farting—that's disgusting, by the way. Seriously."

Meanwhile, she quickly typed her reply: _the almighty one says u jerk off to porn._ That ought to convince him, she hoped.

The reply didn't come right away, and Nina participated as genuinely as she could as they bickered about who had the dirtiest secret. When her phone beeped once more she was ready and opened the message right away: _Guilty as charged. I hope you're ok. I'm sorry about your mom. B misses you crazy much. I need you to do something for me... call the marshal's office, ask to speak with deputy Wade Stober, tell him Nathan's got me._

Nina stared at the message. Was this her fault?

"Jesus, Nina," Jared said, and caught her before her knees gave way completely.

She tilted her face toward him, dazed, faint, and tried to say something, but couldn't.

The phone disappeared from her hands, and she continued watching him as he read, intently studying each inflection of change on his countenance until understanding grabbed him fully. His arm tightened around her, and she found her breathing adjusted itself to the escalating rate of his heartbeats. She sensed the switch in his mood before he even spoke.

"What's going on?" he demanded, and she flinched under the rare hardness in his voice.

"I don't know," she said weakly.

"What's wrong?" Abby asked.

"Jake's in trouble," Jared said, and pulled Nina over to the sofa. He made her sit down, and she allowed the liberties he took to maneuver her.

Wasn't she supposed to be hysterical by now? Or at least be yelling and shouting and crying and swearing her head off? Somehow it was almost as if someone had given her a tranquilizer. Whatever the sensation was, she couldn't locate it.

"How do _you_ know?" Abby said, and zeroed in on the phone. "Give me that." Shane stuck his head next to hers, and both their eyes raked over the message. "Fuck me," Abby breathed, then looked at Nina. "Why is he telling you?"

"I sent them a letter," she said. "A phone, too. But I didn't think. . . ." Pinpricks built and strained behind her lids. She blinked, and meant to continue, but she choked on the thick ache in her throat and hid her face behind shaking hands.

"I'll make the call," Jared said.

When she heard the door close to Shane's bedroom, she let go.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	7. Road Trip

**-x][6][x-**

* * *

**Road Trip**

* * *

_Everyone is waiting for something they cannot hide / "Ropes" by In Flames_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

Jolene stuck the bucket of popcorn in front of Bella.

"Take," she said, and Bella obeyed. She didn't feel like eating anything, but was thankful for the distraction all the same.

"Thanks," she said and dug out a fistful.

When she escaped to her room earlier, Renée wasn't far behind to get her back out. Her mom passed on Deputy Stober's reassurances that they would up the security until they knew more, and that they would put out a BOLO for Jacob, but to keep it low and silent. Unless it was absolutely necessary, they didn't want to start dragging the Swans out of their current location, not until they were 110% sure their cover had been compromised.

Just the thought of having to move again was enough to unhinge her. Bella threw herself on the bed and buried her face in her pillows. Renée tried to be her usual adorable, eager-to-offer-comfort-and-reassurance self, and Bella, on the edge of giving in to fear that Jacob's disappearance was linked to their secret correspondence with Nina, confessed everything. She expected a lifetime sentence in terms of groundings to be passed, and to be confined to her room for the rest of her life, at least, but her parents surprised her—or did they? Shouldn't she have learned by now that they were too understanding and too awesome to be true?

Except that they insisted she go with Jolene and Keith, which wasn't so great, because Bella felt awful for the somber mood she was in. Going out with her friends as usual might help take her mind off things, since there was nothing she could do right now. And maybe it would stop her from doing something incredibly silly, like running off to find Jacob. When Renée asked if she'd considered it, Bella denied it too quickly, which gave her away. Not that she really thought about going off on her own, but she couldn't help the restlessness grinding holes into her restraint.

To count positives, the confession had cleared room for great amounts of relief, but now she instead filled all that space with Jacob Worries and Stop Worrying Worries. Everything would be all right; they had pulled through so much already, they kept pulling through, and they _would_ continue that tradition, damn it.

Keeping that in mind, Bella refocused on the movie, and made her own contributions toward emptying the huge bucket together with Jolene and Keith.

"We're getting hotdogs after this, just so you know," Jolene whispered.

"Jolene, no. I'll explode."

"Shh!"

By the time the credits started rolling, Bella had slunk down so far in her seat that she could barely peep over the backrest in front of her. She made a passing mental grumble about her height, and shot a sideways glance at Jolene when she laughed at her.

"After eating all that," Bella said, "the popcorn owes me at least an _inch. _Of _tallness._"

"Good luck with that," someone said behind them, and then a familiar face appeared over the edge as Bella tilted her head to look up. "Oh, so there _was_ someone sitting there. I wasn't sure at first. I couldn't decide if it was because of the darkness I couldn't see, or what."

"Ha," Bella scoffed. "Did you know that five foot, nine is pretty short for a Senior . . . _guy_?"

"Aren't we pissy," someone said, which made Bella shoot up instantly.

"Sorry. I know Keith and he knows I'm kidding." Warmth was rising in her face as she offered the guy a few seats over an apologetic smile.

"I do?" Keith said. "You hurt my short feelings. We shorties are sensitive creatures, you know. You're mean. Hear that? Katie Alderson is _mean_!" Keith flailed and shrieked, "I want my mommy!"

"Knock it off," someone hollered.

"Screw you," another replied.

"Popcorn fight!" Keith yelled. When people began bustling and protesting, he announced, "Kidding. Suckers!"

"I don't know you," Jolene said under her breath, and shielded her face with one hand as she aimed for the exit.

"Jolene Irving is my sister!" Keith pointed as he yelled. "She adores me!"

Bella was trying and failing not to laugh. "Let's not talk about mean, yeah?" She hurried to follow Jolene, and avoided eye contact with the rest of the movie-goers.

Outside, she quickly zipped up her jacket when an icy wind sped through the streets of downtown Independence. Jolene stood next to her while they waited for Keith to go get the car.

"Ugh! Screw this, I'm getting a hotdog." Jolene stepped off the pavement to skip across the street. "Still don't want one?" she yelled over her shoulder.

"No!" Her stomach couldn't have handled even one more piece of popcorn. The trip home was long and it'd be ages until she could get to a toilet.

A car pulled up in front of her, and she did a lucky dodge when the passenger door flew open.

"Whoopsies. Watch it." Bella looked around, but didn't see anyone approaching the car, so she stepped forward and ducked her head to peer into the dimness. "Are you waiting for someone?"

"Yeah," the driver said, and she got an odd sense of having heard the voice before. "You." Bella's brows shot up. Then he leaned toward her and pulled her in before she could identify the driver or even think to back away. Air flew out of her lungs, and the door slammed shut.

The car shot forward, and she pushed up against the door. "What are you doing? Let me go!" It was dark inside the coupé, but the streetlights outside spilled enough of their illumination through the window to reveal her kidnapper. She stilled. "Steven," she said dumbly, feeling shock, confusion, and slow-creeping fear spread through her. "What . . . are you doing? What the hell are you doing here?" Glancing about herself, then back to him, she ordered, "Stop the car. Stop the damn car, Steven. Let me out!"

"No," he said. "Now, calm down."

"Calm down? You want me to calm down? Are you insane? How the hell did you find us? What are you _doing here_?"

"If you're quiet for a second or two I might get a word in."

"I don't want to hear it," she decided. "I want you to stop the car. Right now." Bella went for the door, and was just about to pull the handle, when his arm caught her around the waist and yanked her back. She started kicking. "Let me go!" she shrieked.

"What is wrong with you?" He sounded unsure of whether to laugh or get angry, so she fought harder, and dug her fingers into his forearm to try and pry herself free. What a useless effort. What was she even thinking? Oh, that was right, she wasn't. _Carry on._

"I'm not the one kidnapping people! What's wrong with _you_?" She kicked again, and found purchase against the door. She shoved herself back with all the force she could muster.

"My God, you're insane. Stop! You'll get us both killed."

"Good!" she yelled. "One less asshole in the world!"

"Motherfucker," he spat when she reached for the handbrake and pulled. The car skidded and spun around, finally coming to a rough stop. His grip loosened momentarily, and she grabbed for the door. It swung open, and she began to kick and squirm, like her life depended on it—and probably it did—until she fell out onto the road. She huffed a grunt on impact. They had already made it to the river, and there were hardly ever any people in this part of town at this hour.

Bella was just about to push off the ground when Steven was there, hauling her to her feet. He pinned her arms firmly to her sides, as effectively as if she were shackled by chains.

"Stay . . . the fuck . . . still," he said. She stared up at him, and felt her eyes widen when she noticed the trickle of blood coming out of his nose.

"Shit, did I do that?"

"No, but your flailing did. I already knew you were a wildcat in disguise, but seriously, what the hell was that?"

In that moment, unable as she was to peel her eyes off of his nose, she couldn't help feeling a little stupid. "I'm sorry," she said. _What?_ She wasn't supposed to apologize; he was. "About your nose. But what did you expect? You grabbed me off the street! You didn't ask; you _took _me."

"Would you've gone with me if I'd asked?"

She thought about that for a second or two, then concluded he had a point.

"No, I wouldn't have." He cocked his head and looked at her, as if to say _there you go._ "But you could've _tried_ talking to me, or, since you found us, you could've _called_. I could keep going, but—can you let me go if I promise not to run? You're hurting me."

"Fine. But if you run. . . ." He dropped his hands to tuck them into his pockets. She reached up to rub circulation back into her arms. "And I couldn't call, okay? I couldn't stay there to chat, either. I already took a huge risk—you don't even _know_ how big_—_to come here, so never mind risking being seen with you." Indecision seemed to battle with something else, and the muscle in his jaw worked, until finally he said, "Can we get back in the car?"

"No!"

At her defiant refusal, he added, "Would you be so kind as to get in the car, _please_?"

"Why should I? Give me one good reason."

"I can take you to Jacob."

His words were like a bucket of ice water thrown in her face.

"What did you do?" she whispered.

"What? Hey. _I _didn't do anything. But I know where he is." Steven jerked his chin at the car. "But we need to get in the car. Look. If I wanted to hurt you—any of you—I would've done it a long time ago."

"You mean, like you _didn't_ hurt us in Phoenix?" Thinking of Phoenix gave Bella a stab of longing, and then she came up with a totally irrational and idiotic compromise. "Okay. I'll go with you, but I want you to tell me anything you know about Nina. Deal?"

A dark look came over him, and he gestured toward the car before wordlessly getting in. Bella scrambled to follow, and strapped her seat belt on once inside. She turned to Steven.

"How is she?"

"I don't think she's too great," he said after a minute of deafening quiet. "But I'm serious when I say I don't really know. It's been a while since I saw her. I know her mom's dead though—murdered."

Bella made a strangled sound and smacked a hand to her mouth. Her eyes became gaping twin-pits of horror. Nina's mom . . . _murdered_? How was that . . . how did she . . . It wasn't true. "It's not true," she mumbled against her wet palm.

"Yeah, well, it is." Steven didn't strike her as the kind of person to joke around about something like that—asshole or not—and his face remained stiff as if it were containing something nasty, so what other choice did she have but to believe him? Besides, what purpose would it serve to tell such an atrocious lie?

For a long while Bella sat immobile, hand clamped over her mouth, and stared at the ornate logo on the steering wheel. Silent tears dripped down onto her knuckles. Eventually she flexed her fingers away, and let her hands sink to her lap. Disregarding her own dilemma, she thought out loud, "Maybe Jacob found out. Maybe that's why he didn't come home. Maybe . . . maybe she sent a letter about it."

"What letter?"

Did it matter if he knew? After all, he was part of the reason behind their breach. She shrugged in answer to her own query.

"We got a mailbox, in case something went wrong, since the Marshals didn't think you were a threat, but we didn't trust you. I still don't, so don't jump for joy."

"Not trusting me is probably the smartest thing you did down there," he said. The admission startled the both of them, she could tell from his expression, and she questioned him with a look. "Trusting Jacob was the dumbest thing you did."

Arrogant asshole. Her palms tingled; she wanted to slap him. To prevent her impulsive behavior from causing further damage, she slid her hands between her thighs and squeezed them together. She ground her teeth when a muted chuckle stirred the air.

"Smart move," he said.

"Instead of insulting my boyfriend, could you tell me where we're going?"

"Washington State," he said.

For a couple of minutes she tried to come up with a response, then they drove through Salem and onto Route 5, northbound.

"They're going to put out a BOLO for me, you know," she said, and then realized how stupid she sounded. She went through her pockets, remembering her own phone, and with a sinking feeling found them empty. He must have taken her cell when she wasn't paying attention. Ha. As if she had been paying attention at _all_.

"Whoops," Steven said, not sounding particularly dissatisfied. "Lost your phone?" When she shot him a sharp glare, he said, "I didn't take it. I bet it fell out when I pulled you in."

"When you manhandled me, you mean."

"Don't be so prissy."

"I'm _not prissy_!" she hissed.

"Whatever you say."

Ignoring his attitude-problems, she asked, "Why're we going to Washington State?" The moment she said it, she knew she had been exceptionally dense. It was Nathan who had gotten Jacob, wasn't it? Either that, or Steven was playing her. Jacob wouldn't have gone after Nathan himself; she couldn't bring herself to believe that for a second. Just thinking it stung too much, and she hoped it wasn't true. That still didn't explain how Steven would know about it. But, then again, they never did figure out what role he played in all of this. Bella sighed. "Never mind. I'm dumb. Can you just be clear, please? Tell me what's going on. Why're you doing this? How do you know where Jacob is when the Marshals don't?"

"That is interesting, isn't it?" And that was the only reply he offered.

Steven stayed silent, and she slumped back to stare helplessly out the window. If he wasn't going to answer her, there was little she could do to persuade him otherwise.

She leaned her head on the window and thought of Nina. A patch of condensation on the glass pulsed rebelliously to mark her ragged breathing.

**-xo][O][ox-**

Some time later, Bella awoke with a start. She blinked while looking around, momentarily disoriented. The car wasn't moving, and not only that, Steven wasn't in the driver's seat. That sobered her up immediately, and she pushed the door open.

Nothing but black forest surrounded her.

"Shit," she groaned.

Snapping branches echoed through the night. She caught a movement, and Steven stepped out of the blackness and into the wisps of mist bathing in the car's spotlights.

"Disappointed?"

An overwhelming desire to knock him down a notch or two took her by surprise, and she backed away.

"I want answers," she told him, adding "Now," in what she had hoped was a strong enough demand. It didn't sound very impressive, not even to her own ears. "Do you think just because we're out in the middle of nowhere I won't escape?"

Steven had reached the front flank of the car and sat down to fold his arms.

"Go on, then. Run."

He looked down as he kicked a few rocks around. Something about his behavior made her think of a cat toying with its prey, waiting for it to provide the entertainment of a hunt.

Sudden inspiration filled her. "Why did your dad ask around about Rebecca?" His pause gave her hope. "You knew," she continued. "That's why you wanted me to walk away, wasn't it? You're protecting your dad . . . aren't you?" Silence. A light rustle whispered from the depths of the forest.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think I do," she said. Spurred on by the excitement of being on the right track, and spiking bravery, she said, "You don't have to do this, you know?" How lame did that sound? _Jeez, Bella._ "Whatever it is that makes this seem like the only choice you have, I know there's another way, there always is." Usually, anyway. Sometimes it just needed to be pointed out by someone else. She was sure her parents or the Marshals would have a good solution to his dilemma.

"Don't do that," Steven warned.

"Huh?"

"Talk to me like I'm a lost soul all alone in the world. Don't." Bella snapped her mouth closed and took an involuntary step back when he approached her. "I'm not doing this for lack of choices, and when I tell you that you don't know what you're talking about, I'm not being ignorant. You are wrong. Way off." He towered over her, and she swallowed. "Not even close."

"Okay," she whispered.

"Get in the fucking car."

"Got it." Bella obediently scampered off and shut the door behind her. So maybe she was totally clueless as far as Steven's motives went, but when it came to his body language, whenever he came close, even if it spoke in a foreign language, it always shouted at her. And she didn't like the way it shouted.

Steven stood in the same spot she had left him, his back to her, and didn't move for the longest time. When he decided to get back in the car, he did so with a new, harder set to his features. The engine purred to life, and he slowly inched onto the road. She expected him to ignore her—he seemed like he needed to stew for a while—but she had already forgotten she did a poor job of reading him.

"Before you continue working out plans in that head of yours, I'll give you a piece of advice: it'll save us both a lot of time, and a ton of frustrating and completely fucking pointless yapping if you stop trying to come up with ways to change my mind. I won't, so stop trying."

"That sounds really sad," she said before she could stop herself. She opened her mouth to take it back, but at his flat stare decided it was better to just not say anything at all.

After a few minutes, she heard him mutter, "Should've just put you in the damn trunk."

"_What_? I didn't say anything!" Did he forget to take his meds?" Jeez. "What the hell's your problem?"

"You."

"Then let me go!"

"No. And shut up. Stop talking." Bewildered, she turned fully toward him. Her mouth opened, then closed. "I said: shut up."

"Oh my _God,_" she exclaimed, but any desire she'd had to argue escaped her so fast it left her feeling deflated. Without a word she lowered the seat and curled up as best she could, facing away from him. Maybe he really did have mental issues? She would try to control her tongue better; she didn't want to trigger some kind of episode.

**-xo][O][ox-**

The radio was on, but the volume had been turned down so low she couldn't make out the music. She struggled to sit up—her bladder was going to explode if she didn't get to a toilet, pronto—and returned the seat to an upright position.

They were no longer swallowed by thick spruces; instead, the landscape had opened up. She thought she saw the glimmer of water, but she wasn't sure. It was still dark outside, though not as much. What time was it?

Bella stretched. "How long was I out?"

"A long time."

"I'm sorry, but, uh, I really need to pee."

"We're almost there."

She glanced around. The view to their left piqued her interest. As she leaned forward to squint her eyes, there, on the horizon, the deep gray canvas of sky was riddled with glowing fractures, through which enough light was allowed to reflect off the waves below, glittering dunes that seemed to stretch on forever.

"Oh, wow. The ocean," she said. "It's so beautiful."

"Do you mind?" She drew back and folded her arms. "You can sit and gaze at the ocean all you want when we get to the cabin."

"Cabin?" That didn't sound ominous or anything. Of all things, she remembered when Jacob and Jolene had talked her into watching horror movies one night. They had dragged Jacob's TV and DVD player out into the barn and by the time the last movie was over, Bella hadn't dared to walk back to the house. A somewhat humiliating experience, but those were standard-issue for her, so she got over it. Now, however, she gave an involuntary shudder, and pursed her lips. "Great."

Steven didn't bother to comment, and shortly thereafter they made a turn and started climbing up a winding dirt road. For a few minutes dense canopy shut out the moonlight, but then Bella spotted a clearing ahead, and the promising shape of a house. She remembered then that Steven had told her he'd take her to Jacob, and her heart responded with a torrent of flutters.

The cabin was definitely not a cabin but a house. Now when she got a closer look at it, however, a strange wave of unease swept over her. A gaping blackness lurked behind the tall windows, of which the ones facing the ocean stretched up into an arch, reaching beyond the second floor. A veranda wrapped around the entire structure, and the drop below the front looked deep and treacherous.

"I thought you needed to pee," Steven said, making her jump. She moved hesitantly toward him, taking each step with growing suspicion, and stopped completely in the mouth of the open door. He gestured impatiently for her to go inside, but her feet didn't want to obey. "Going to squat on the porch?"

Looking from the barely distinguishable shapes past the doorway to his eyes, usually the color of washed out jeans but now unnervingly dark, she said, "I know I probably come across as dense half the time, and I guess that's understandable, but . . . Jacob's not here, is he?"

A cold breeze came in from the bay, passing a play of shadows across his face to allow a brief flicker of moonlight. It caught the paleness in his hair, and the steel below his brow.

"Sorry, princess."

He grabbed her arm and forced her across the threshold.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	8. I See You

**-x][7][x-**

* * *

**I See You**

* * *

_You're a heavenly junkie. An ocean in a sink. Colors never seen. / "Black Dove," by The Daylights_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

Steven couldn't sleep. It wasn't only the current circumstances that contributed to the difficulty of winding down, where each step needed thought and prepping, which in turn required him firing on all pistons. Sleep demanded of him the ability to relax, something he had always struggled to manage. Letting go meant inviting a level of acceptance, of admitting the day was over and his work was completed and nothing more could be done.

Something more could _always_ be done. Something more _should_ always be done. Nothing was ever _done._ Not in his experience, not in his life.

So now he was restless, and it was way past midnight. At least Bella had left him alone, for now. He didn't expect that to last long, though; the girl didn't know to leave well enough alone. Her incessant questions, verbal and silent, poked at his never-closing wound, making it itch, making it fester, raising the levels of adrenaline in preparation for the usual routine, and that was not an option right now. Going to Mo's was the only remedy, the only environment in which he could lose himself, let the monster out of the cage—Mo would lock it back up if Steven lost it completely, he had done it several times over the years—but that outlet wasn't available to him here.

He could handle a few days, he knew he could, but that certainty was based on cohabiting with different, more predictable people. Bella should have been predictable. He had accounted for her ways, remembered who she was and what she was like. Until she wasn't. The very idea of being caught off guard made Steven uneasy, but to actually _be_ off guard was unacceptable.

Bella had caught him off guard because Bella had changed.

Of course people changed, and he had learned to calculate change, prepare for a wide variety of resultant behavior, adapt to it as required, but the thing with Bella was that she had changed her tune toward him. She just would _not stop watching_ him_._ She was allowed to look if it were just in the manner which many girls looked at him, but she didn't. Her way was something else. Her eyes spoke to him: _I want to see you._

If he wanted her to see him, she would, but he didn't want it, and she didn't respect that. He tried to explain it, but he obviously explained it wrong.

Motherfucking fuck.

No. She didn't_ get it._ He explained it simply, perfectly, _flawlessly_. She just didn't understand its importance.

Itching. So much fucking itching.

He stopped pacing and turned to see Bella watching him.

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

_See_? No. He did not fucking want to. "Haven't you got something better to do? Like sleeping."

"I was trying to, but I heard whispering. Are you talking to yourself?" She took in his half-dressed state, and narrowed her eyes. "Never mind."

_Seeseesee!_ Goddamn it. Instead of telling her to fuck off, he aimed for the stairs. But then he heard the soft padding of her feet as she followed, and he turned halfway down the staircase. She was level with him now.

"Stop following."

"I can't sleep."

"So go do something."

"I am."

"That does not include following me."

"But I'm not."

He glared at her, and she glared back.

Fucking motherfucker. "Whatever. Just be quiet."

"I didn't say anything." The stubborn tilt to her chin and the inquisitive, searching light in her eyes spoke volumes. That was what bothered him. Yeah . . . What she _didn't _say was the problem, and now he found himself wondering what, exactly, _did _go on inside that head of hers.

Fuck.

He continued down to the ground floor without another word.

When Steven left Phoenix he had toyed with the idea of buying a smaller-sized punching bag, one he could assemble easily, a portable convenience. But the only problem with that was the reason he boxed in the first place: giving in to the need every human being had to be themselves, fully and completely and without inhibitions. Steven couldn't be himself anywhere else but with Mo. Nobody but Mo would _want _to have Steven around when he succumbed. It was disturbing. It was _unnerving_. Even a little frightening. But not to Mo, at least he said it didn't bother him any longer, and he had looked like he meant it.

Steven switched on the TV and sat down to watch the National Geographic channel. If he could choose it, he would never watch movies or TV shows or anything with acting, ever. There were no cameras rolling for him, and the acting never stopped, so at the very least he could avoid watching other people do it. They did it badly anyway. They fucking sucked at it. Fucking ass-sucking smiles and hysterical emotions, animated gestures and facial expressions, but worst of all were the endless supposed reality TV shows that were _not _real. When he got pulled into a discussion about the latest episode of the Bachelorette or Big Brother, or that fucking Survivor show, he imagined dropping his guard to show them how gullible they were, how easily deceived they were. Unfortunately, the life he was planning made that not even remotely possible; showing them his true self would redefine the very meaning of social suicide, and he could never allow that to happen.

Fucking monkeys.

And Jesus, what the fuck now? Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bella sit down on the edge of the sofa, on the armrest, opposite side. She pulled one knee up and rested her chin, then she watched him.

"Is the story behind your nickname true?"

He watched the penguins instead of her. "Depends on which version you heard."

"You made your babysitter eat your dad's pet fish?" She was trying to pick his brain; he knew because he felt the pinpricks along his scalp. Too bad she couldn't handle it, or he would show her.

That was when he decided he may as well screw with her a little.

"Yeah, I did," he said, and turned a flat look her way. "They never tell the part about the prepping, though. That was the most important part. It took me an hour." Bella's mouth curled slowly but surely into a horrified grimace. The subtle kind; the kind people tried to suppress when not wanting to offend. "Ever seen Siamese fighter fish? Can you imagine getting fillets from a fish that size?" Her repulsion was so real he could taste it, and a deep-seated satisfaction spread through his body.

"You're sick," she said, and he smiled. "How can you just . . . How can you smile at that? Doesn't it even bother you, _now_?"

"No?"

"I did a lot of things when I was that age that I'm ashamed of, or at least can admit was wrong. You don't think it was wrong?"

Think? No. Know? Yes. "I know it wasn't a nice thing, but I'm not sorry. Well, I might be sorry if it scarred the babysitter mentally, but other than that, no. I don't think it was wrong."

She frowned. Two deep, thoughtful lines formed between her eyebrows as that _I want to see you_ light flared in her eyes. "So why'd you do it then? I mean, if it's only for the babysitter's sake you'd be sorry, then why even do it?"

"It's what we assholes do," he replied and returned to the penguins. She wouldn't leave it at that, so he watched the waddling on the TV screen and waited for her to sate her need to try to break through his skull.

"God. I still don't get how Nina could actually like you," Bella muttered, as if to herself. Her inspection of the rest of him didn't go unnoticed, and suddenly she was off the sofa, shaking her head, and practically ran from the room.

He would have smiled since he knew how girls talked, and if he remembered one thing about Bella that had not changed, it was her inability to keep emotions off her face. She must have tried to not compare . . . and failed.

His smile, accompanied by the amusement he felt, started wilting when Nina's mom's murder rudely encroached upon his head space. He had to concentrate on not succumbing to the swells of nausea his repulsion summoned. Bile rose in his throat, and a cold sweat broke out as if to contest the territories of his self-control.

_You're dead when this is done._

He eyed his phone and swallowed back vomit.

The penguins lulled him to sleep, eventually, taking him with them as they dove into black waters. His lids were closing, and a small figure moved around the sofa, reached to pick up the remote for the TV. The blue flickered and died, leaving the room dim with dawn's approach. She lingered, then came to stand in front of him where he half-reclined.

He lifted his head from the backrest.

"Don't get up," she said.

He didn't, and she inched closer, sliding one knee up along the outside of his leg, then the other, until she straddled his lap. She wore only a t-shirt and soft cotton briefs, and the silkiness of her thighs under his palms sent a thrill through him. Her hair fell forward as she bent down, dark eyes regarding him with piercing curiosity.

"Show me," she whispered. "Trust me."

"Get the fuck off," he yelped. Shoving back, he stared up at Bella's startled expression, where she stood wringing her hands.

"I'm sorry," she said in a hurried, shaky voice. "I was just giving you a blanket. You had goosebumps all over you and it looked very cold and unpleasant and I'm sorry. I'll go now."

He peered down and saw the blanket, then looked up and she was gone.

His breath rushed out hard and fast, and he got off the sofa as he balled up the blanket and threw it away from him, as if it were on fire. What had just happened? He dragged one hand unsteadily through his hair. Was all of it a dream? It had to be. Not that that was of any comfort. That she wouldn't leave him alone was bad enough, and now she was in his head without his damn permission, too, which made him clench his fists against the need to break something.

Steven moved for the kitchen to pour himself a drink of water, but on the way he paused in front of the bookshelf. One section was covered by glass doors, and from behind it a row of expensive-looking wine bottles flirted with his dwindling restraint.

"Hell no," he said out loud. He was better off going for a run. Beyond frustrated, Steven took a large glass of water with him to his room on the second floor and locked the door. He set the glass on the nightstand, then dropped to the floor and started pumping, counting each push-up. He kept counting until perspiration stung his eyes, dripped off the edge of his nose, and his arms and entire body buzzed and trembled with satisfactory depletion.

After a shower Steven was ready for another attempt at sleep. He stopped outside the door to Bella's room and eyed it. Then, soundlessly, he cracked it open. Curled up with the covers tucked in beneath her chin, he saw that Bella's lids were closed, but her face appeared troubled. He surmised she was either having not so pleasant dreams, or she was pretending to sleep while actually being fully aware he stood there watching her. Either way he knew he was responsible for her discomfort, and he slowly closed the door again. It wasn't until he got back to his bed and began to toss and turn that he identified the partial restlessness as irritation with himself for checking on Bella in the first place, when he knew for sure she was in her room and didn't need supervision. Try as he might, he couldn't block her, and worse still was the persistent memory of her eyes, soft but as hell-bent as their owner to break him, the way she had looked at him, the way he felt, a slipping desire, when she tried to coax him into letting go.

Exhaustion finally dragged Steven under. He didn't know for how long he slept, but it couldn't have been more than a couple hours, because when he woke the light was still a weak stream through his window. From downstairs he heard cabinets opening and closing and rolled out of bed while grabbing for his phone, only to find the nightstand empty.

He shot up and looked around, then went to try the door handle; it was locked. He must have left his phone in the living room.

He found his cell phone on the sofa. He scooped it up to check for missed calls or messages but found none. He took a calming breath, then went to the kitchen where Bella stood inspecting a small spice bag. She turned and held it up.

"No expiration date," she said, then a little smile curled one corner of her mouth. "Dare to partake in an experiment?"

"What's that?"

Bella slid the packet of eggs he had bought the day before toward him, and pointed at the milk and a small packet of sugar. "Crack one and mix it with some milk, sugar, and cinnamon, and I'll heat the frying pan." At his lack of response, she arched one brow. "Hey, you're the expert on preparation—I figure this should be easy for someone who knows how to filet pet fish. Or haven't you made French toast before?"

"Of course I have," he said, smoothly snapping out of his momentary confusion. "However—" She let out a smothered sound of surprise when he with his hands on her waist moved her away from the stove. "I'll do that, and you mix. Wouldn't want you to get any ideas with this." He held up the frying pan, twisting it meaningfully.

"Like beating you over the head with it? Never crossed my mind." She sounded earnest, but her eyes told him differently, although the faint humor he saw there gave her face a different appeal entirely. She got out an egg, eyeing it thoughtfully, then shot him a challenging look.

"You don't want to do that," he warned. She shrugged and cracked the egg over the edge of the bowl, directing a wide smile his way.

"Gotcha," she said.

This Bella was the one he didn't know, the one placing him on thin ice, but he didn't let on she had that effect on him. If there were dangers in the fact he couldn't predict her next move, the possibility of her figuring out he had no idea how to deal with it, and how much that unhinged him, posed an even larger threat. He didn't know what to do at all, since she had already thrown him so far off balance.

Steven stared at the frying pan as the glob of butter began to melt and circle the pan, and realized what was happening. Bella wasn't affected by him; she wasn't intimidated in the least, or if she were, she didn't show that she was. Moreover, he recognized that the jitters in his tense muscles weren't so bad, even if he were far from relaxed, but somehow he didn't feel the need to _do _something about it anymore.

But then he pinned down something else. He glanced over his shoulder at Bella who measured a cup of milk, and he knew he didn't mind her company.

"Where're you going?" she asked when he walked past her, meaning to leave. She gave a little jump when he in an abrupt manner redirected his path, but then stopped with two inches to spare. Coldly, he stared down at her. "What?" she whispered.

"Nice try. Now _stop trying_."

He left her gaping and wide-eyed, and he counted each breath as he paced around the house until he had himself under control again.

**-xo][O][ox-**

* * *

**Author's Note:** The update this weekend is a tad late and for that I am sorry. I ran into the need for some last minute changes, and since I only have the weekends free for hobbies I now had to squeeze in a little writing, too, which left me a little strapped. Which reminds me: The updates are for weekends since I am working and going to school simultaneously, so I just cannot, no matter how much I wish I could, rush the posting. Secondly, the chapters are being proofed and edited as we go, and my dear **MeraNaamJoker** also has a lot of things to do (and without her there would have been SEVERE delays with this update, I owe her so many things!). While we both love writing and hanging out with the pretend people, we just don't have the time we used to. All the same, your reviews take me through any quiet moments at work, since I frequently stalk my inbox when no one is watching! ;-) So thank you so much for reading, your words are precious! All the snorgles.

Until next weekend! :-*


	9. Still Here

**-x][8][x-**

* * *

**Still Here**

* * *

_Each time the hatred grows I forget which side I'm on / "My Own Worst Enemy," by Robert Pettersson_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

As Jacob wandered through the sprawling spaces in the one-story waterfront villa on Harstine Island, he let out a sharp whistle.

"What you lack in personality, you sure make up for in style," he said. He stopped to dig his hands into his pockets, and watched Nathan flick light switches on a broad, square column. A large, U-shaped kitchen gleamed in the bright flood from the tiny little spotlights dotting the ceiling.

"Nice, isn't it? Can I get you anything?" Not waiting for an answer, he moved for the fridge and tugged it open. He withdrew a bottle and proffered it like a well-educated butler, and Jacob hid his amusement with equal skill. "Wine?"

"Are you serious right now?"

Nathan snapped his fingers. "Oh, that's right. You're not eighteen yet, are you? My bad." Setting the bottle on the counter, he proceeded to rummage through the shelves. "Ah. Here we go." He tossed Jacob a can of soda.

"Invite minors often, do you?"

Only the faintest sign of temper thinned Nathan's lips, but then it was gone. "I won't ask for your understanding about what happened; I have no right. I'm not even sure that's an appropriate discussion for us to have without a chaperone, anyway. But I do recognize a jab, so can I ask you to at least try and control yourself?" Nathan uncorked the wine bottle. The pop echoed in the silence, but Jacob chose to not be intimidated, and cracked the can open before holding it up.

"To those who get away," he said, then set the can back down. "On second thought, I think I'll go with the water." He skipped up the rise in the floor and went for the glass-mirrored cabinets. He got himself a tumbler and turned the tap on.

"I know what you're trying to do," Nathan said after a long stretch of silence. "And I get it, I really do."

Without looking at him, Jacob said, "Yeah?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you. It'll take a lot more than obnoxious behavior to piss me off. I'd say I dare you to try, but I'm not as much of a dick as you seem to think I am, and I suppose you'd succeed eventually if that's what you really wanted." Jacob turned to take a big mouthful of water. "I'm not who I was, I have learned a lot since then, and as much as you'd like to tell yourself I'm a monster, I'm not. But we all have our limits. Remember that."

Jacob emptied the glass and set it on the bench, harder than intended. His skin felt like it had been invaded by big, nasty insects.

"You're not going to let me get out of here alive, asshole. You know how I know? You wanted me dead once. That's what I remember. You killed my parents. That's what I remember. You _ruined my life_—_that_—" _Keep it together, Jake._ "_That_ . . . is what I remember. So spare me the 'I'm a changed man' bullshit."

"I know." Nathan sighed and sipped his wine. "You're right, Jacob. I did do that, and if I thought there was anything I could say or do to make it easier for you to accept, I would, but I know I can't. Only you can do that." He turned, and started walking ahead with his glass still in-hand. "I'll show you your room before I go get some sleep."

It wasn't until Jacob released the edge of the counter that his knuckles throbbed with evidence of how hard he'd fought to not simply punch Nathan in the face.

This was going to be a lot more difficult than he'd initially anticipated. Why he didn't go ahead and try to knock him out, he didn't know, but as much as Nathan didn't look like he would be much of a challenge in a fist-fight—funny, he remembered Nathan built like a gym-junkie—the cunning that Jacob had witnessed a few years ago, not to mention today's bizarre behavior, was the ultimate deal-breaker. A little more time was needed to figure out a strategy, rather than throwing himself at the guy in a fit of rage, which, at this point in time, looked dangerously inevitable.

Nathan stood waiting for Jacob down the end of the wide hallway. He nudged the door open, and motioned with his glass for Jacob to step inside.

"There's a bathroom right there, but it's a joint one, so lock the door, unless you don't mind visitors while taking a piss. I'll be down the other end, if you insist on putting that obnoxiousness of yours to the test. I suggest you get some sleep, though. We've got a lot to talk about."

Jacob entered the room.

"Good night," Nathan said, and left.

If he had just invited Jacob to try and kill him in his sleep, he was going to be the one disappointed. Were he to actually do it, Jacob wanted the prick to see him coming.

That line of thinking finally pulled him up short, and now, feeling like he might have some space to himself, to breathe and to think clearly, he sank to the floor and leaned back against the bed. He dropped his head and stared up at the ceiling.

Heaving a sigh, Jacob checked the phone for messages, found none, then got his wallet and flipped it open. He pulled out the folded photograph of Billy, the one that Nathan had sent. No way would a guy who'd still wanted revenge after so many years change after just another, what, eight months?

Jacob stared down at the man in the wheelchair.

Was he thinking about himself, or Nathan? Or both? Not even a day had passed, and already he was back to fighting an entire militia of black thoughts, hungry ghosts.

Jacob got another photograph out, one he'd taken himself. _God, baby. What the hell am I doing? _Would she forgive him for not fighting harder to get home if he got out of this alive?Bella was his light, and he hated that he couldn't seem to produce any himself to hold back the demons that kept haunting him. According to everyone else, though—and Renée, always Renée—he was doing _so great_. Shouldn't he see it? Or was he just that blind?

This. Being alone. He didn't handle it so well. Never for long.

For lack of something to occupy himself with in the absence of tiredness, Jacob got up to inspect the bathroom and started picking through the drawers. He found a brand new toothbrush, still in its packaging; toothpaste and dental floss, ready for first use; shower gel, shampoo, conditioner, and some exfoliant.

Resuming his hunt, he spotted a bathrobe hanging from a coat hanger on the door adjoining the other room Nathan had mentioned. The tag was still there, delivering an essay to boast of the robe's excellent quality. A note was attached to it, and in elegant handwriting it told him, _You would be surprised the difference it makes._

He couldn't stop it; he laughed out loud. "You're one fucked up cookie," he said. Shaking his head, he started to leave, but paused mid-turn and dropped his gaze to watch the doorknob. His entire body tensed, like a bowstring, and the door opened.

"Hi there," said the young woman who emerged. She leaned one shoulder against the doorpost. She tucked shiny, brown hair behind one ear and chuckled. "So, I take it you didn't like the robe." An easy smile shaped her lips as she looked him up and down. "I tried to tell him, but my cousin has his own way of doing things, and when he's made up his mind about something, it's hard to steer him in a different direction, you know? I'm Savannah, by the way." She stepped toward him, hand outstretched, and to add humiliation to a rapidly growing list of What The Fuck, Jacob backed right into the corner of the sink cabinet. "Ouch. Careful." Savannah's smile turned sympathetic, and she returned her hand to her side. "You're Ephraim. Or do you prefer Jacob?"

He managed to locate his voice to say, "Yeah. Jacob's fine." What was she doing there? As he opened his mouth to ask, he decided he didn't care. "Sorry I woke you," he said instead, and quickly exited the bathroom. He heard that soft chuckle again.

"As you can see, you didn't," she called after him. "_I _am sorry for startling you, though."

He glanced back at Savannah. She wore a white blouse and gray tailored slacks. Bare feet peeped out beneath the wide hem. She looked like she had come straight from the office. He raised his eyes from her toes to meet her inquisitive gaze. Blue eyes, just like Nathan's, but open and friendly, completely unlike him. Jacob wasn't sure what to make of her.

"Why are you here?" Since she clearly wasn't going to let him escape, he might as well try to figure out why Nathan had brought his cousin along.

"Well, this place belongs to one of my dad's clients. They come here for two weeks in August every year, and usually we manage to rent the place during the low season. But, lucky for us, the tenants left early. Who wants a holiday home in Washington State, anyway, right?"

"Guess I wouldn't know."

"I'm boring you," she said, and stood up straight. "Have you eaten?"

"It's the middle of the night."

Savannah's hand fluttered dismissively as she scoffed. "Come with me. What did he feed you, roadside burgers?" She retreated into the room she'd come from. "Whatever it was," she called out, "knowing Nathan, you're starving. You'd think he's a psychic sometimes, and he knows what I like, but still he buys me fries and burgers. Every single time." Jacob's expression made her laugh. "See? Come on, I'll hook you up with the good stuff."

If this were a trap, he would rather walk into it mindfully, rather than have it sprung on him without suspecting it coming. So, reluctantly, but on his guard, he followed.

Back in the kitchen, Savannah pointed Jacob toward a bar stool while she started emptying one item after another from the fridge and onto the counter. It was impossible not to stare at her. The contrast between Nathan and this girl was so stark it sent Jacob's head into a spin. Did she know what Nathan had done? What he was capable of? Was she fully aware and just as dangerous?

"Do you like fried onions?" she asked and met his eye. "I make them just right, and not that soggy goop you're given in a lot of restaurants."

"I guess you better prove that, then," he challenged.

Her smile grew, and she pointed a spatula at him. "You're on." She pulled out a cutting board, and slid it his way. "Know how to cut onions?"

"Pfft." Was this a trick? A test?

"Ohh," she said. "I get it. Very well." Handing him a knife, she leaned across the counter. Her face was only a couple of inches away. "You better prove that," she said in an undertone. He blinked, and then she was back at the fridge, digging around for God knows what. For a moment he considered the knife; it sure looked sharp enough to serve as a potential weapon—

"What the hell is she playing at, right?"

Jacob almost dropped the knife.

Savannah opened an overhead cabinet to get out a couple of plates. "It's been a while, but scars will always be scars, won't they?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Nathan ruined your life."

At that, he curled the handle into a tighter grip. "What's it to you?"

Savannah came to stand across from him. She placed a large onion on the cutting board and slid it closer to him. "Let me cook for you first, and then we'll talk." She indicated the onion as she smiled.

He decided he would give her the benefit of the doubt, unwilling though he was, but as he grabbed the onion and cut it in half, he had to ask, "Did Nathan put you up to this?"

He watched her reach for a brown paper-wrapped packet. "The real question is: does that really matter?" She unfolded the contents, and placed two deep-red rib-eyed cutlets on a plate, which she carried over to the stove. Jacob started slicing the onion and considered her words as a frizzling sound came from the frying pan.

"No, it doesn't." He was their hostage either way.

Fifteen minutes later, Savannah sat down next to him and cut into her steak. Jacob eyed his own for two seconds, then dug in. He felt her watching him as he ate with embarrassing speed, and when he was done she laughed.

"Two points to me, none for you. I knew you were starving. Damn, I'm good." When he looked at her she had her mouth full, but winked. Her lids fluttered closed, and she nodded on a mumbled sound of appreciation. She cut another piece and devoured it. "Mm-hmm. You wouldn't believe how much crap I eat during the week. This is heaven. Nothing beats a good old steak."

He felt a persistent twitch trying to turn his frown upside down. "Yeah, it wasn't bad. Thanks."

"Not bad?" Savannah rolled her eyes. "Don't overdo it now, I don't think my ego can take it." With that, she quickly finished up, and nudged the plate out of the way. She sat forward to rest her chin on the heel of her palm and drummed the polished granite. "Hmm . . . Got room left over?" She eyed his middle.

"I don't know." He deliberated her motives, but his minute indecision caused her to slide off the stool with one finger held up.

"You love macadamia nut ice cream." She got a bucket out of the freezer. She then went for a drawer, got two spoons out, and pushed it close with her hip. "Come on. Leave the dishes. Nathan is a neat-freak and the place will be returned to its sparkling glory before it's time for breakfast." Jacob stared after her as she moved soundlessly toward her room. She paused to glance at him, having reached the door, and curled a finger in a beckoning motion. Suspicion and anxiety battled it out as he warily followed.

"Here," she said when he stepped into her room. She thrust the ice cream and spoons at him, placed one hand on his arm while pushing the door closed, then guided him to sit on a divan by the windows. "I'm just going to get out of these clothes."

Finding no suitable reply for that, Jacob settled for looking out the window. He shouldn't have worried, though, since she disappeared into the bathroom. No sooner had the door closed, when he heard the shower running.

The hint Savannah had dropped that they would talk and that he might possibly find out why he'd been brought here was the only thing that stopped him from going back to his designated bedroom. He set the ice cream down, then saw a cell phone sitting on the side table, next to a pair of keys. Either Savannah was incredibly smart, and was testing him, or way too trusting—or just clueless. The latter didn't fit, and he had yet to decide which of the other two did, and to what end.

Jacob looked at the cell phone again and remembered the one hidden in his pocket. He fished it out to find a few messages and several unanswered calls from an unknown number. He opened the first message: _Hey man. Nina freaked out so I called and gave that marshal your number. He is going to try to get a connection but don't pick up unless it's safe. They will get a trace on you. Hang in there. We all miss you buddy. Jared_

"She's one of the most optimistic people I have ever met." Jacob gave such a start that he dropped the phone. He stared at Nathan who shook his head slowly from where he stood in the open doorway. "And I knew she'd give you too much credit, so . . . how is it they say it? Fool me once, shame on me; fool me twice . . . I just can't help but feel disappointed, though." Yet somehow he sounded anything but. The dawning of the fact that Jared and probably the rest of the band now knew way too much chased rational thinking out of Jacob's brain, but Nathan saw his intentions and warned him, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Screw you," Jacob bit out, feeling his composure cracking around the edges. He ignored the warning and went for the phone, but Nathan was there in a flash to kick it aside.

It were as if he'd triggered a switch somewhere inside him; Jacob's mind blanked out and he lunged, knocking Nathan to the floor. Jacob got his hands around Nathan's neck, tightening them fast. There was no fear in his victim's eye, not even a little. He should have known why, though, and froze instantly when a hard object pressed into his ribs.

"This will get complicated fast if I have to hurt you." Nathan's voice was hoarse, but the flush to his face didn't match the flat expression.

Jacob found himself entertaining perilous delusions, such as, _Can I strangle him before my heart stops? _At that never-ending moment, taking a bullet and going down just for a chance at dragging Nathan with him seemed like his best option. He would keep coming after them, wouldn't he? And now he'd have more victims to collect. In the end it was just a game to him, a self-indulgent jester's mastery of mind-play, and he didn't give a shit about business deals or values of investments. That was just the prelude, the diversion tactic until he had his pawns exactly where he wanted them.

"Jacob, I'm running out of patience and oxygen and you are running out of time."

How did he stop? How did he convince himself to step back from the ledge when every fiber in his body was ready to sacrifice each counted breath after the leap, if only for the chance to put an end to the nightmare?

A sudden sting to his upper arm put a stop to it for him, and he turned to find Savannah slumped on her knees. She was wrapped in a towel, wielding a syringe and a sad frown.

"What the hell did you do?" A cold ribbon sped through his vein, his arm buzzed, and the room began to sway.

"You'll be okay," Savannah said, soft-voiced, but the words were rounded and fuzzy.

His body disconnected, heartbeat by heartbeat, but he still perceived being jostled.

"You can put that away now, Nathan."

_Thump . . . Thump_.

"Nathan. Back _off_."

Before the world caved in completely, he imagined distorted voices.

"I told you. He doesn't trust either of us."

"I think I was doing just fine until you ruined it."

"Right. What, do you think he was calling his friends to tell them what a nice girl he met?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I thought. God, Nathan . . . get a hold of yourself and let me handle this."

**-xo][O][ox-**

Disoriented, and nauseous to the point of agony, Jacob tried to rise. His head throbbed, and shafts of light plunged into the room from an unidentifiable source above. He squinted and lifted his arm to block the sharp brightness, but the effort it took made spots dance in his field of vision. He struggled to sit until exhaustion left him in a cold sweat and laboring for breath. He dropped back, depleted.

What was wrong with him?

It all came back in a rush, and he exerted non-existent strength to stubbornly attempt to roll over. An edge met him and he fell right off it.

"Shit."

Mere seconds passed, then a door opened. Light and swift footfalls approached as Jacob craned his neck in time to watch a blurry shape crouch next to him. A hand swept across his forehead, then something soft prodded his neck. As much as he wanted to swat at it, he couldn't, or maybe he didn't care enough to try.

"Okay," she said after a moment. "Come on. Let's get you back into bed. Then I'll get you some fresh water. You need to drink."

"Leave me alone," he said in a drunken-like slur.

"I'm sorry," she said, and sounded it. "It was either this or a bullet." She pulled his arm around her neck and tugged. "I won't pretend I don't know what Nathan's been like, but—" A huff. "Please, sweetie, I don't go to the gym, despite the world we live in, and maybe if someone had told me I'd be hauling men off the floor one day, I might have overlooked how darn boring it is to lift weights—but—" Jacob tried to cooperate, and through gritted teeth, Savannah continued, "_God_, you sure got him off-kilter." Having maneuvered Jacob back onto the bed, Savannah looked down from where she stood, face red and hair like a wreath around her head. "No more wild expeditions without me, okay? How's that sound?"

The room had started spinning the moment he hit the floor, but now it was getting worse. Hot-cold flashes broke out over his entire body, and he knew he was going to be sick.

"Get me a bucket," he whispered.

Savannah's eyes widened, and in seconds she shoved exactly what he'd asked for in his face. Jacob didn't have time to wonder what a bucket had been doing next to the bed before his stomach heaved. Savannah slunk off to the bathroom. She wasn't gone long, but his stomach was already done, and it seemed like suddenly so was he.

"Here," she said, and offered a damp washcloth. "Do you think there's more coming?" He shook his head. "I'll take that outside." She replaced the bucket with the warm cloth and left the room.

Jacob kept staring at the door through which she'd left, trying to piece everything together.

Apart from what he managed to gather from the returning memory of the night before, reminding him that his one and only line to the outside world had been severed, of one thing he was convinced in this moment: Savannah had saved his life. By sedating him, sure. But he was alive. Alive, and more alert now than ten seconds ago, which forced him to acknowledge Savannah's determination to keep him that way.

Did Nathan really not want him dead? Did Savannah honestly want to help? If she didn't then why go through all the trouble? And why risk pissing Nathan off by getting between him and the subject for his revenge? If this were even about revenge anymore. It was clear to Jacob that Savannah being here wasn't coincidental, and she was definitely involved in this, but her motives, although still a mystery to him, didn't include wanting him dead, or he wouldn't be sitting here.

Jacob grabbed his head, raking fingers back and forth across his scalp. A sense of gratitude welled up with overwhelming force.

He scooted to drop his feet onto the floor. He still felt weak, a shiver under his skin, stiff muscles, but the nausea was gone. Even his head hurt a little less. He got up and moved carefully toward the bathroom, and as he for the first time since waking fully processed his surroundings he saw he was in Savannah's room. He shook his head, as if to clear it, and shuffled through the door. He locked both and stripped.

The hot shower worked most of the tension out of his body, and after brushing his teeth, he wrapped a towel around his hips and exited into the guestroom. He dropped his clothes on an armchair, and went to the bay window. Through it the sun warmed his skin, and for just a moment he missed Phoenix. He hadn't thought that would ever happen, but here and now, left standing in a flood of rays and memories he had never fully allowed himself to care about, he soaked it all up.

He had to fix this. He shouldn't even be here, but now that he was he needed to set things right before anyone else got hurt.

"Oh, _hello_," came Savannah's voice. Jacob turned a little too fast and had to grab the wall. A large paper bag hung from her clasped hands. "Sorry. I'm doing that a lot. Startling you, I mean."

"S'all right."

"How're you feeling?"

"I'm okay. Hey, listen, I—thank you."

A wry smile curved her mouth. "For checking you out?"

He had noticed that, but now when she pointed it out, it brought him to a pause. Jacob glanced at his clothes. "For what you did," he clarified, and moved for the arm chair.

She intercepted him and put a hand over the pile. He met her eye, raising one brow.

"Here," she said, and straightened to hold out the bag. "Getting into clean clothes after a shower is one of the best things I know. Right up there with crisp, clean sheets." He couldn't find his tongue to respond, so he took the bag. "I'll let you get changed." She made no attempt at discretion and roved her eyes over him, a little too appreciatively, before leaving the room. He had no intention of returning the favor, but somehow he noticed the way her jeans hugged her ass.

He quickly told himself to keep eyes and mind above belt-level.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	10. Indepted

**-x][9][x-**

* * *

**Indebted**

* * *

_We're not broken just bent / "Just Give Me A Reason" by Pink_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

As soon as Jared got off the phone with Deputy Stober, he came back into the living room to tell Nina that the phone she had given Jacob might very well be his only lifeline, which lessened the guilt, but only a little.

The hours passed, one by one long-dragging minute, and no more messages came through. Along with it hope that the trace would work sank. Both Jared and Abby sent messages to tell Jacob the Marshals were going to call to establish a connection, but they received no replies. The Marshals didn't get back to them, either, and by the time Henry called to let them know he'd be by in the morning instead, Abby decided to go home to try and get some sleep.

Jared stayed, and for a long while he sat with Nina. They stared unseeingly at the TV, both too preoccupied with their own thoughts to take an interest in what they were watching. At some point Nina slumped under the weight of exhaustion, and she guessed that Jared must have rearranged her position, since when she woke up some time later, she found herself covered by blankets and her head on a pillow that had not been there before. Peering into the darkness, she made out the shapes until she found Jared sprawled on the floor, half-resting on a beanbag. Soft snores came from that general direction, but she eliminated Jared as the source when she saw the door to Shane's room, only a small distance behind Jared, was open.

She knew it would prove fruitless, but reached for her phone anyway. Finding no messages, and noting it was just past 2 a.m., she got up and padded into the kitchen to get a drink. Shrewd light filtered in through the curtains drawn across the window, coloring each surface it touched a pale-blue silver.

The fact that Jacob had referred only to himself in the message made Nina assume Bella wasn't with him—maybe that meant she was safe. The possibility of Bella being okay, at home with Renée and Charlie, Ashley and Jesse, made Nina almost giddy, but guilt socked her in the gut each time she considered it, as if to even it out. She remembered that night she had spent watching Bella worrying about Jacob who'd been driving around Phoenix with Jared to look for Rebecca.

In the end she couldn't ignore the possibility that this was all her fault. That, in turn, filled her with a desire to undo whatever awfulness she might have caused, a want so commanding it obviously must have fucked her up even worse than she already was. That had to be the reason, she thought, while silently sneaking through the flat on tiptoes with her duffel bag in a tight grip. Not even she, six months ago, would have entertained hitting the highway alone. And definitely not in the middle of the night. But her mom was dead, her dad had skipped the country, and her best friend had relocated thanks to some psychotic killer. Nina could have opened a door for him, she could have lead him right to them—not that she understood how, but that didn't matter when Jacob was beyond a doubt in deep shit. If she were to blame, if she could, somehow, in any way, find Jacob, then maybe . . . What? She had no idea, but in her mind there were no other options.

Ten minutes later, Nina was on the I-10, westbound. Destination: Seattle, and Weaver Enterprises. Funny. First her dad wanted to take her to Seattle, and then she refused. Now, it was like fate was giving her the big fat finger. This was by far the stupidest, most idiotic thing she had ever done

**-xo][O][ox-**

Nina was surprised she made it into California before the calls started coming in. First, Jared called:

"Jesus, Nina. Are you crazy? Turn the car around."

"No. I need to do this."

"No you don't."

"I do. It's my fault—"

"Stop it."

"No, you stop it. I'm not coming back. If I can do something—"

"But you can't! Come on, think, use your brain. I know you've got one, and you can't honestly believe . . . Look, sweetheart, I'm not trying to be an ass here, and don't think for a second I haven't considered what you're doing right now—I want to find him as much as you do. You know Jake's like family to me. But if the Marshals can't find him, what makes you think you can?"

That made her pause, but only because she was burning with fury and she wasn't sure why. In the end she told him, with all that anger barely contained, "I don't _think_, I know I can. I can't afford not to, Jared. I'm sorry for being such a disappointment and a fuck-up."

The moment she ended the call she burst into tears and had to pull over. Of course she had been lying through her teeth and shoving back insecurities and second thoughts, but one thing was true: if she couldn't fix it and something really bad happened to Jacob—to any of them—she'd never forgive herself.

Barely two minutes passed before Abby called. Nina canceled the call, and when Abby called again, and then Jared, and eventually Henry and Shane, Nina set the phone to silent and got back on the highway. She ignored her phone, her bladder, and the churning in her stomach all the way to Los Angeles. If she hadn't been so damn tired and wired, she might have freaked the fuck out by now, but if nothing inside her operated by normal standards, then how could she feel fear?

In Valencia, close to Santa Clarita, hunger finally won out, and she took the opportunity to fill up a spare gas can and buy food for the road.

A small corner shop across from the gas station caught her eye, and she hurried through at the fastest pace possible without looking like someone on the run. The man behind the counter eyed her anyway, and the overload of caffeinated drinks and energy bars.

"My boyfriend's _so weird_," she said, and darted out from under his too-inquisitive gaze, shopping bag clutched close.

For nearly one hour she kept checking the rear view mirror for suspicious activity, all the while stuffing herself like a pig, after which she was able to somewhat relax. It didn't take long for the other benefit of the food taking effect—other than settling the hollow ache in her belly and lifting the dizziness—and a crippling fatigue hit her out of nowhere.

"Oh my fuck!" She yanked the car back from the shoulder. Suddenly wide awake, she sat ramrod straight, eyes wide but itchy from the grainy scratch of her rapidly blinking lids. Unless this was going to be the worst and shortest runaway-slash-insanity-induced rescue attempt in history, she had to be a little smarter. "As if I'm here 'cause I'm smart," she thought out loud. She had to pull over somewhere to catch at least an hour's sleep.

Nina found a secluded spot and locked the doors. If some psycho freak-show hacked her to pieces in her sleep, it would probably be nothing more than what she deserved.

Closing her lids and finding sleep was a lot easier than she would have thought, and she was shocked to find that, when she woke up, she had slept nearly two hours. Her limbs were stiff as hell, though, so she got out of the car to stretch her legs and have some carbs before continuing. It was 11 a.m., and if her calculations were correct, she would enter Washington State in a little over 12 hours. That was based on the assumption that no one had stopped her by then, which she had to accept as a likely outcome.

Once Nina was back on the road, she picked up her phone. There were a trillion unanswered calls and a staggering amount of messages. All but two messages were from Jared and Abby. One of the other two was from a private number which matched 10 of the missed calls. The other was from a number she didn't recognize. As soon as she opened it, though, her brows shot up. It was from Dr. Mercer, of all people. It said: _Please call me when you get this. Lucien._ Well, that wasn't weird or anything, and what was up with the name? Since when were they on a first name basis? Either way she did _not_ want to talk to him right now, if ever again. Shaking her head, she opened the second message and just about drove off the road again.

Nina slammed down the brakes and came to a stop.

The message read: _Hi Nina. It's Renee. Please answer your phone honey._

Nina read the words, over and over, unable to believe what she was seeing, although she was sobbing and maybe all the crying was messing with her vision and she had finally reached her limit and was having a total meltdown . . . but then a call came in. _Private Number_ flashed across the screen.

"Hello?" she said, gulping back another sob.

"Oh thank God. It's Renée. Oh, honey, are you okay?"

Nina was done. She couldn't talk, even though she tried, which only served to make her cry harder, and then Renée's voice started breaking.

"Oh, baby." She heard another familiar voice in the background then. Charlie. The words weren't clear enough, but then Renée's voice was closer again. "Nina. Honey. Where are you?"

All the intentions she'd had to go after Jacob—find him, help him, redeem herself—scattered, and she told Renée everything. From finding Alleen to getting the message from Jacob, talking to the Marshals, and each self-loathing thought in between. Finally she broke off with, "God, I'm just so sorry, Ren. I'm _so sorry_."

"Nina, sweetie, it's all right. Everything's going to be all right. Okay? Now, I need you to listen to me carefully, sweetheart, all right?"

Nodding, and wiping a palm down her face while straightening, she said, "Okay."

"I want you to keep driving north, toward . . . Redding. I'm getting in the car right now, and I think we'll reach Redding around the same time. Do you think you can do that? If you're tired and feel like you can't do it—_safely—_then I want you to get your butt to a motel. In a town, baby, and nothing remote, all right? And stay put until I get there. Trust _no one_."

A part of Nina wanted to protest and tell Renée she shouldn't come. Didn't she have enough on her plate? Then she blurted, "How's Bella?"

There was a pause before Renée said, "Let's talk more later, okay? Just focus on getting yourself as far as you can, and if you get tired then pull over and call me. I'm sending you my number."

"Ren?"

"Yes, honey?"

"I've missed you guys, like, so fucking much . . . Crap, sorry."

Renée let out a soft chuckle and more tears flowed. "Everyone here's missed you just as much, sweetie. We'll see each other soon, I promise, and if there's anything—anything at all—then you call me, you hear?"

"I will," Nina said, and they hung up. She waited until Renée's message arrived, then floored it.

**-xo][O][ox-**

The knowledge that Renée was on the road and coming for her gave Nina all the strength she needed. The only stops she made were to fill up the car. She snacked on whatever she had bought in Valencia, and went through the messages from Jared and Abby. They were understandably pissed off, but their concern was easy to pick up on between all the fucks and shits and other impressive vocabulary, and eventually her conscience caught up with her. She made a quick stop to call Abby.

"Holy fucking shit, I'd smack the stupid out of you if you were here," Abby said.

"I know. I deserve it."

"Damn right you do." A pause, and then Abby sighed. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Nina didn't want to say anything about Renée, so she quickly asked, "How're the others?"

"Trying to talk each other out of going after you."

Nina laughed, then bit it off. "Jared was ready to rip me a new one for being stupid. The crazy must be contagious."

"Well, duh. It's a fucking disease. Even _I _want to, but my mom would probably have a panic attack from hell and kill herself worrying, and then I'd have Pierre on my ass, and trust me, you don't want to piss off the French. I swear, it doesn't matter if I don't understand half the shit he spouts when he's mad, but I don't need to. He starts frothing at the mouth, you know, or something, and that stuff goes everywhere . . . I get nightmares, and I'm not kidding."

"Sounds . . . ."

"I _know._ But Mom's all gooey-eyed for him so whatever."

"Maybe he's got other talents," Nina said, and tried not to laugh again at Abby's gagging noises of disgust.

"Do _not _go there. Eugh."

"Sorry. Look, I've gotta go. I just wanted to let you know I'm okay."

"You better keep us posted. We were ready to call the Marshals, and if you don't answer us next time, we're calling that deputy, whatever his name was again."

"Wade Stober."

"Yeah. Dude, lawmen are so _hot_."

"Dream on." Nina could see Abby in her mind's eye, rolling her eyes.

"Whatever. Don't pick up any hitchhikers."

"Please," Nina said before she hung up, but thought about Abby's words and locked the doors.

She leaned back and opened Dr. Mercer's message. She didn't want to talk to him, not really, but she couldn't help wondering why he would want her to call him. It would be the decent thing to do, she guessed, instead of ignoring his calls. A little voice bitched at her, telling her she was pulling that excuse right out of her ass to have a legitimate reason to return his call.

"Ugh. Shut up, ho."

Nina waited for the call to connect.

"Nina."

Oh shit. Even his voice was perfect. She should have listened to her own advice. "Yeah. What's up?"

"I am so relieved. You can't even imagine how much I have worried about you."

Eh . . . what? _Okay, slow down, dude_. "I'm fine, Dr. Mercer, but since when do therapists text their patients? I gotta say you're creeping me out a little, Doc."

"Do you really have to ask that, Nina? We already crossed that line, don't you think? I know you are a lot smarter than you let on."

She didn't know how she felt about him having figured that out about her, but then she had already acknowledged she was playing with fire so she shouldn't be surprised. "Well, I wasn't smart _enough_ if you figured it out."

"Don't feel bad about that. I have a lot more practice than you do."

Nina let out a sarcastic laugh. "Excuse me while I gag. You're not just a little arrogant, are you?"

"I'm sorry I offended you. That wasn't my intention."

"It's fine. But now that you mention it, what _is _your intention?"

"To make sure that you are all right."

Yeah, right. "Come on, Doc, you said you figured out I was smart. Well, here's some smarts for you: what makes you think I _wouldn't_ be?"

"Because I know you're not in Phoenix anymore."

Nina didn't have an instant comeback for that one. Once she got over the initial confusion as to how he could know that, a pinprick of unease vied for her attention as she heard Dr. Mercer asking if she was still on the line. She started considering implants and tracking-devices before asking herself why she would be so important and what her therapist would have to do with it anyway. Unless . . . "Unbelievable." Nina groaned as her brain started working normally again. Of course. "Who was it that called you? Jared? No wait. Abby. It was Abby, wasn't it?"

"Who?"

"Nuh-uh, Mister I Have More Practice Than You. Only a handful of people know I left Phoenix, so if you're actually going to stick with that one seriously I recommend you read the Stalking For Dummies handbook. Rule number one: Remember your victim has a life, so do your research and do it well."

"Nina, please, could you drop the vibrant sarcasm for just one moment and take something seriously?"

"I am very serious, Dr. Mercer. Stalking is serious business." She heard him sigh. "So are you going to tell me?" This should be good. She waited for him to give her another good excuse, and while waiting she listened to the background noises on the line.

It sounded like he was driving . . . .

"Forgive me," he said finally. "I'm not earning myself any credit with you, am I?" She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. What was he trying to do? "Nina," he said, voice suddenly so much more serious than she was accustomed to. "One question. All I ask is that you answer one question and then I will leave you alone. Please? "

"Fine," she lied, and was relieved she hadn't hesitated. He didn't need to know she wasn't planning on giving him any straight answers.

"Jesus Christ, stop_ lying_." She blinked. When her silence _and_ his had stretched thin enough for her to feel genuinely ill at ease, Dr. Mercer spoke in controlled tones. "Nina. You don't owe me anything, and if I haven't told you all that I should it's because I've been trying to look out for you, but with all that said I really have to insist you trust me."

"Sorry," she said without thinking. "I just . . . My life is so fucking complicated right now and I just . . . I can't talk to you, okay? I'm sorry, but I can't tell you anything because people could _die_." Shit shit _shit_. "You know too much as it is. Please, don't call me again." She pressed _End Call_ and tossed the phone onto the back seat.

Just when she thought she couldn't fuck up any worse than she already had, she proved how very wrong she was.

Having lost some time, she decided to make up for it. Dirt and sand kicked up into a billowing cloud behind her when she drove off.

**-xo][O][ox-**

The rest of the drive went without hiccups. As Nina passed Sacramento, she decided at the last minute to hunt down a McDonald's. It shaved off more time of the estimate to get to Redding at the same time as Renée, but while devouring the burger she sent a message to let her know she was doing just fine and that she had stopped to eat.

_No sweat. We want you home in one piece. Xo. _

_Don't worry. I'm not picking up any hitchhikers so I should be OK. _

_I had almost forgotten your charming humor, Nina. Go easy on me, I'm not young anymore, yk? ;-)._

Nina bit her lip and replied, _Sorry Ren. See you soon!_

When Nina entered Redding, her stomach was wrung in such tight knots she felt a little sick. She had just gotten off the phone with Renée who gave her directions to the gas station she had stopped at, and when she spotted the large sign just up ahead she thought she would throw up from sheer excitement.

Nina's eyes settled on the large silver SUV Renée had described to her before she even turned off the street. The door opened and Renée emerged, waving at her. She looked just as she always had, her smile a carbon copy of Bella's, which triggered a flood of emotions that made Nina stumble out of her seat and launch herself into Renée's outstretched arms.

"Thank _God_," Renée said, and caught her. Words competed with the kisses she dropped on Nina's head as she rocked her back and forth in a tight embrace. "Oh my God, I have worried . . . Thank you, _thank you_."

Nina could only cry and hold on, bravely making any pacts with whoever would hear her that she would never ever screw up again, just let her _stay_.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	11. It's Not You It's Me

**-x][10][x-**

* * *

**It's Not You It's Me**

* * *

_You knew I am a psycho, I told you I'm a psycho / "The Happy Song" by Poets Of The Fall_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

Steven couldn't refocus. The dream and the little stunt Bella had pulled not only got him off his game, but it infected his brain, replayed itself until his nerves punched through his skin and turned the breeze coming in from the ocean into an antagonizing devil out to get him. Even the inanimate objects placed strategically around the place, like the amorphous vase on the mantel piece above the fireplace, seemed to have the power to bend him out of shape. He wanted to smash all of it, eliminate all things with potential to cast a shadow. He wouldn't, he knew they couldn't hurt him, and that it was just his body—his fucked up head—that was getting the better of him.

He walked around the house, presented himself with temptation to destroy it all, touched things, caressed them, then set them back down.

Cocksucking fuckbag. He ran this show. _Him_. No one else.

Bella seemed to take the hint, finally, and stayed out of his way. He didn't know if he would be able to restrain himself if she got in his face now, with those big eyes that drilled and drilled and a soft mouth that just talkedtalkedtalked.

shutupshutupshutup

The hours dragged so slowly he felt each second _tick tock_ from the clock on the wall. Time was a sarcastic fucking bitch: when waiting for something exciting, she mocked with her cackle. _Tick tock._ A devious mind-fucker. _Ticktockticktock._

No. Time was time. The fucktard that was supposed to have called him by now was the source of all this melodrama.

_Ticktockticktockticktock_

His pocket buzzed, and he counted to five before getting the phone out. Now he called? Moronic douchefuck. He walked outside and let the call connect.

"I was beginning to think you'd bailed on me."

"No, no. I wouldn't bail on you, Steven. We're fine. I just had some unexpected business to attend to, which is why I'm going to have to cut this short. I'm just calling to let you know I need an extra day."

Steven did not like the sound of that. "And what do you want me to do about it in the meantime?"

"Keep your eyes open and don't let her out of your sight."

"Done."

"Thank you."

The line disconnected, and Steven tried not to break the phone. He did _not _like the sound of that voice. It screamed _fakefakefake_ at him.

Before his brain could have a field day with his crumbling self-restraint, he got a message: _I will give you the details when I get them._

"Motherfucker."

Bella reclined on the couch when he stalked into the living room, but sat up after giving him a once-over. He wanted to tell her to keep her eyes to herself, almost opened his mouth, then thought better of it.

"Something wrong?" she said, and he leveled her with a look that had absolutely no effect whatsoever.

"I think we were doing pretty great," he said with a hard edge. "So keep minding your business, and I'll mind mine."

"You know, Steven," she said, and switched off the TV. "It kind of is my business. I'm your hostage, so if something's wrong, I think I have the right to know."

"Actually, that's where you're wrong."

"And why's that?"

When he didn't give her a reply and left the room, she promptly followed, which caused him to whirl. She stood her ground, and he almost failed to make himself not pick her up and march her to her room and bolt the door shut. At least speech abandoned her.

Ignoring her question and his own new rule to keep interaction to a minimum, he said, "Did anyone ever tell you that you're a pain the ass?"

"Maybe if you weren't such an ass I wouldn't have to be a pain."

He laughed, once, a harsh sound. "Maybe I'd be less of an ass if you stopped acting like I might begin to care what you want."

"So ignore me then." She stepped closer, crossed her arms and met his eye with obstinate determination. "You're better at acting like an asshole than you are at pretending you don't give a shit."

In that moment he wished he could tie her up in the basement and leave her there until this was all over. The only reason he didn't was because in spite of what her interpretation of this might be, his intent did _not_ include hurting her. His silence invited her to continue, and for what purpose, he didn't know. He almost felt a tiny splinter of admiration for her persistence. Almost.

"So what changed?"

Steven didn't reply, he just looked at her. He didn't have a clue what she was getting at.

"I have this memory of a guy who couldn't get enough of trying to convince me he was a good guy. What happened?"

"Leave it alone."

"No." And there it was, the fueled eagerness to solve the puzzle that was him, and he felt its probing tentacles trying to reach past the barrier as she forged ahead. "You've got to remember that guy. You were so damn adamant about it, and now you're bending over backwards to be a total jerk. What's it going to be, Steven? You can't be both."

He didn't want to discuss this with her. He was already beyond uncomfortable—disturbed, more accurately. Aggravated, even, with the small part of him that wanted the exact opposite, wanted to give her free rein to keep digging, keep searching, for whatever evidence she could find so she could tell him he wasn't the asshole he was trying to portray. Because she was right, and it was becoming a death sentence to pretend. His nerves wouldn't settle, the tension wouldn't be alleviated. He did care, and just admitting that gave it more power. Just like any starving organism being offered the smallest amount of nutrition, used to being given nothing, and it came back to life with a vengeance.

Steven didn't want to be the bad guy, and he didn't want her thinking he was. But if he gave in on this one thing, allowed her to think she could influence his decisions, what would be the next thing he relinquished? In his life he'd had plenty of experience being the bad guy, for real, so why should this be any different? Why did it matter? What difference did it make if he went on playing the part, playing it so well that she once and for all truly believed he was just an irredeemable jackass?

"You're right," Steven said. "I can't be both." Her relief was instant. The gentle, dawning smile she offered twisted his gut like a jagged and rusty knife. "I'm the asshole. I'll always be the asshole. And if you don't quit your mission of saving the world, and me along with it, I'm hauling you into the basement and leaving you there. Are we clear?"

"Steven—"

"Give it a fucking rest, Bella."

He moved past her, but her hand on his arm forced the worst kind of survival instinct out of him, and he had her flat against the wall in seconds. His knuckles left a mark short of an inch from her head, and the sweet pain vibrated up through his wrist and into his shoulder. Disregarding the newborn fear in her eye was easier now when he'd picked his game. "Consider this the end of my lenience. I'm not warning you next time."

Tears welled up, but she nodded her acquiescence. If he weren't so pissed off already—with her for pushing him, with himself for letting it get to him—he'd acknowledge the guilt clawing at his spine. Guilt much worse than he should feel, even worse than when his babysitter never came back because she refused to look after a "psychopathic pet-murderer." Her words apparently, not his. Nick made sure Steven knew the exact reason behind why they had to find a new babysitter for him and his brother. As if he wouldn't have been able to figure that one out without the play-by-play.

Steven relinquished his grip. "I've got some things I need to take care of. I'll get some dinner, too, while I'm out, so I'll be gone for a while. Don't go do anything stupid, Bella."

She shook her head, a jerky motion, then fled up the stairs. He waited until he heard the door slam shut, then went to pull some clothes on. He grabbed the house and car keys and walked out.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	12. Unbutton Yourself

**-x][11][x-**

* * *

**Unbutton Yourself**

* * *

_If you offer salvation I will run into your arms / "Miracle" by HURTS_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

Jacob opened the bag. Having clothes picked out for him to wear left him feeling a little weird and edgy. He wasn't their puppet, regardless of the dances he performed when they pulled the strings (or when she crooked her finger at him).

Should he be making it this easy for her? For _them_?

He shouldn't, but he pushed it aside. He had decided to give Savannah a fair chance, so he would. After saving his life, it was the least he could do.

Dressed and feeling really dumb, Jacob went to find Savannah.

She lounged on a sofa in the living room, and when she spotted him she put her reading down and got up.

"Wow. Look at you. That should definitely do the trick." She went for the kitchen counter and patted a picnic basket. "Something came up and Nathan had to leave, so it's time for us to talk business."

Jacob stopped dead in his tracks, feet bolted to the floor. "What?" He didn't dare to believe it, let alone allow himself hope. "Why?"

"I'll explain soon," she said.

"Soon? What's wrong with now?"

"Well, I thought we could go for a walk. I have a sneaking suspicion you've been cooped up in here long enough, so let's go enjoy the sunshine. Or try to, at least."

Was she serious? This was a joke, if a very sick one at that. In what universe was kidnappers going for a stroll and enjoying the sunshine with their victims normal?

"Yeah? What do you think?" She eyed him oddly, waiting for his reply. He stared. "Okay. I'll take that as a yes. I'll just make sure the front door's locked. Mind taking the basket out on the deck?"

He was not in the mood for a picnic, but watched her go. She wasn't as tiny as Bella, but she was small enough. It would be easy to subdue her . . . Except that the thought sent a startling ripple of sickness up his arms, then slithered down to coil in his stomach. He swallowed. All he could see was the bruises Rebecca had thought she'd kept a secret, and he knew he couldn't do it. Despite Bella's efforts to the contrary, he was still messed up.

"Let's go," Savannah said, and that was that. He had to follow.

**-xo][O][ox-**

It was warm for being February, warm for this area in general, and he left his jacket open, letting the sun heat up the dark-colored cardigan. They walked along the shore in silence, ducking beneath bowing branches, weaving in and out between roots and the occasional gnarled piece of driftwood sticking up through the pebbled sand. It reminded him of beaches from a home years back.

"Are you and Nathan close?" he asked, to break the quiet crunching of their footsteps.

"You could say that." She smiled her carefree smile when he looked at her, then laughed. She covered her mouth, swiping some hair out of her face. "Sorry. You just look so lost that I'm not sure at all what to do with you."

"You could let me go." Of course he didn't expect it to be that easy, but it was the only thing he could think to say.

"You know I can't do that."

"Yeah." Jacob allowed half a smile. "Can't blame me for trying."

"I know."

"Don't worry about it. So far I owe you, so this is the least I can do."

"You sure about that?" Her voice was at his ear, resulting in a falter to his step and a stumble forward.

_Nice going, Jake._

"Shit," she muttered. She made a grab for him but he managed to stay on his feet. "I'm so sorry."

A laugh had jumped up his throat, and now he turned to her with a dubious "Yeah? Like you're sorry about that ninja move of yours last night?"

"Ouch. You're really going to make me work for this, aren't you?"

They had come to a stop at a formation of rocks, a shelf shooting out from the shoreline, about twenty minutes from the villa. Thanks to the clear day, the warmth of the sun, and minimal breeze, Jacob shed his jacket and spread it out to sit on.

"It's all I have," he finally answered.

Savannah followed suit with her own coat and started unpacking some sandwiches, and while he didn't look at her directly, he still felt her eyes on him. She placed a thermos and a couple of cups on the ground between them.

"I hope you like hot chocolate," she said. She knelt down and started pouring, then sat back. "Nathan thinks you're incapable of trusting us, you know, but I want to believe you can."

"Didn't think I'd ever say this, but Nathan's right."

"Is he?"

Jacob's eyes narrowed as he reflected upon the insinuation she knew something he didn't, apart from the obvious—why he even sat there with a Weaver to begin with. Jacob got to his feet.

"If you have something to say, just say it."

"I'm sorry for the way we handled this, but please, Jacob, let me finish."

"If it's about me doing you guys favors, forget it. Nathan tried that already, and I'm not listening."

Savannah stared at him, looking distractedly stricken by his reaction. And now that he was standing, he didn't know what to do with himself, but he was beginning to think it would be better to walk away, make a run for it. Looking around, acknowledging he had no idea where to go, and grappling with the fact he wanted to know why Nathan had abandoned ship so suddenly, he stood his ground. He hated it, but he didn't move.

She started getting up and he offered his hand reflexively, but she waved him off and stood.

"Okay, no favors," she said. "But what about safety? For the Swan family, and your girlfriend . . . Bella, isn't it?" It was a low blow and he saw she understood that, but that didn't stop her. And she had his attention now, didn't she? She was desperate . . . Wait. She kept raising the stakes, like she was prepared to do anything, which meant that she needed his cooperation. The tables had turned now, and Savannah had him, not the other way around. Just mentioning Bella and her family had seized him cold.

"You wouldn't have to keep looking over your shoulder anymore," she said, as if trying to drive it home just that little bit farther, as if his unsteady heart's sluggish thumping was as loud as it was painful.

It was laughable but he said it anyway: "This is blackmail."

"I know," she replied, and to that he had no idea how to respond without sinking himself. "But think, just _think_ about it. We can make it go away, Jacob. Your family would be safe, Bella's family—"

"How? How would you do that? I'm here, aren't I? Why is that? If you can snap your fingers and make it go away, then why didn't you stop your cousin _before _he put a gun to my head? You've got to see how this is all just very hard for me to believe."

"It's complicated, Jacob, I wish I could explain—"

"It's complicated?" He nearly laughed in her face but reined himself in, then demanded more answers. "Where is he anyway? How come he isn't here to negotiate? This doesn't sound like much of a business deal to me."

Savannah covered her face, then began to rub her temples. "Okay." Their eyes met, and Jacob waited. "Okay . . . The feds came looking for him. They had a warrant for his arrest—something about DNA at a murder scene in Phoenix. But Jacob, this time he really is innocent—" She bit down when he couldn't keep the revulsion he felt off his face. "I know how that must sound and I'm sorry, I don't mean to be insensitive. I don't condone of Nathan's past methods or behavior, and neither does he, but I swear to you that when we brought you here it wasn't to hurt you, okay? We _can _make life easier for you, for all of you. I promise."

"I don't know. . . ." Jacob raked fingers through his hair and shook his head. He couldn't think, at least not about anything else but Nathan escaping justice, _again_. They couldn't make DNA go away. How the _hell_ could the weasel get himself out of that one? He returned his thoughts to the deal currently on the table, but failed to find rationality he sought there, too. "God, this is so fucked up. I don't . . . I just don't know how this could work. You should have listened to your cousin. I don't trust you, any of you." He didn't trust _himself_ right now.

Savannah approached him, and placed one hand on his arm as she started to say something.

"Don't do that," he said, pulling back.

"I want to help you."

"You've got one hell of a fucked up way of showing it." And the knife kept on twisting deeper.

"This is a fucked up situation," she reminded him gently, the word sounding strange coming from her mouth. "I work with what I'm given, and yes, this is a mess, but it isn't _Nathan's_ mess. I promise you, he's trying to make it _better_, and so am I. ButI'm just one person, not a magician."

Savannah didn't try to touch him again, but she didn't back down either, forcing him to acknowledge her presence even if instinct saw him running in the other direction and he had to fight each muscle in his body from making him.

He was considering the possibility of her telling the truth, and it made him sick.

"You gotta give me something," he said, glancing at her. "If you want me to even think about this, you need to give me something. Anything. So that I know you're not jerking me around."

She didn't need to know he was sold, or as good as. But he had already taken the plunge, even before this, and was treading right alongside her in a cesspool of lies, games, and deception. The notion strung up his stomach in a tight ball, and it didn't matter that he held these people responsible to one extent or another for what had happened, kept happening, but ultimately it came down to that Savannah might be telling the truth. She might be genuine and stuck in this just like he was.

Savannah breathed in, then out, visibly relieved. "Okay," she said. "I think I know just the thing." And there was that smile again, like she carried around an endless supply, determined to not let anything knock her down. She stood her ground, didn't step back, the smile didn't waver even when it felt like his own was buried deep beneath the avalanche of self-doubt and loathing her offer and the resultant uncertainty had released upon him.

He made himself walk a few steps away from her before he said something he shouldn't. He recognized the dense clogging in his chest, the congestion of failing self-composure. He'd been here before.

A few moments to collect himself, pointlessly, and he said, "So, what's the killer move to make me believe you?"

He stared at the water lapping against sand and rock, and heard her steps as she rounded him. She paused at his side. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her reaching into her pocket, and he didn't think—his hand snapped out and he grabbed her arm.

"Wait," she gasped, and he let go immediately. Shock and pain contorted her features, and Jacob stumbled a few steps backwards. With a deepening crease to her brow, she retracted her hand, a light tremble to the effort, held up both, one empty and one grasping her phone.

He exhaled, a wave of shame washing over him, and dragged a palm down his face. What had he meant to do? What the hell was wrong with him?

"God, I'm an asshole. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said, letting out a thready quiet laugh. "You've gone through a lot, if not before today, then in the past 24 hours alone. I don't blame you for being jumpy." He groaned. "Hey." She came closer again and laid a hand on his shoulder, ducking to peer at him when he tried to turn his head. "You're a good guy, Jacob. Honest. Don't beat yourself up."

"God, please don't." He couldn't handle this. It was too much. An unnamed feeling taunted him, laughed at him. He was cracking beneath the weight its pointed finger summoned. "You know what?" He stepped back from her. "This _is_ fucked up. Too damn much. I can't . . . I'm done."

"What?"

He turned and walked off in the direction from which they had come.

"Hey, wait," Savannah called after him as she followed.

"Please, Savannah." He stopped, then glanced at her, tethering on the edge of losing it, and he wouldn't. Not here, not now. The way she looked at him, that crumbling face of sympathy, open, earnest, would undo him. As if that weren't enough, as if the sick part of him gaining the upper hand wasn't enough, descending into despair made him miss Bella so viciously he choked on it. He had no fucking right and he deserved each and every ounce of misery infecting him.

He took one lungful of air, then blurted, "I'll do it. Jesus, whatever it is you want, I'll do it, just leave them—"

Savannah flung herself at his neck.

"Thank you," she said and held on, repeating her words with such reverence it disarmed him. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_. I have absolutely _no right_ whatsoever, but _thank you_." Slowly, he lifted his hands to extract himself, making her loosen her arms. She tilted her head to look up at him, smiling in spite of the wet sheen to her eyes. "I won't let you down," she vowed, then stepped back. "Now. How about that 'killer move'?"

His voice tight with conflicting emotions, he tried to make his reply light. "Yeah?"

Savannah's eyes swept over him, and he couldn't make himself react when she laid her palm on his cheek. "I need you to promise me something." She graced him with her smile, if maybe a more careful version of it, but it was hers all the same.

He closed his eyes, felt himself deflate. "Savannah, I really—" And she cut him off with a kiss.

Jacob froze at the foreign texture of her mouth on his, and she pulled back to meet whatever expression he now wore.

"I'm sorry—that wasn't—" she stuttered.

For all of the two seconds it took him to drop his gaze to her parted lips, his mind dislodged, and he took her face in his hands and kissed her back.

Savannah's response was instantaneous; her arms claimed his neck, her fingers found their way into his hair, and before he could adjust to her pace his brain started functioning again, some part of it at least. Because her body felt all wrong, as did her roaming hands, and he jolted back.

"Oh, fuck," he breathed.

Blue eyes stared back at him in shock. Savannah held one hand to her mouth. "Why'd you . . . I'm sorry."

"No no no," Jacob protested. "_I'm_ sorry. I wanted to do that—I mean, some part of me wants to . . . . _Shit._"

"I want you, too, if that's not obvious by now."

Jacob dropped his head into his hands when Savannah retreated. "I shouldn't have done that." God, he was even more fucked in the head than he had thought and felt so incredibly _low_ it wasn't even funny.

Savannah said nothing, and he didn't want to look at her, but he made himself do so in spite of his shame. Out of all the things he could have imagined she would do—slap him, call him an asshole, tell him what a hypocrite he was, slap him again, yell at him—she did none of those. She reached out, and even though he didn't want her touch he was too conflicted to move when she gently rubbed his shoulder.

"Hey, Jacob? Don't beat yourself up about it. Today's been rough."

"Today? My entire life's a clusterfuck. But that's no excuse. It's like I'm a junkie, just helplessly addicted to doing the wrong thing, and this was like the cherry on top of my fucked up cake." At that, he squeezed his lids shut and rolled the heels of his palms across his eyes.

Savannah sighed, but a buzzing sound disrupted any further comments. She answered the caller in soft tones. "Hello, Billy."

**-xo][O][ox-**

* * *

**Author's Note:** Once more a busy weekend, but in a good way, which is sooo needed from time to time. Anyhoo. We are now halfway through! Another two four-chapter updates, one two-chapter update, and then the epilogue... which isn't finished, but I won't start freaking out about that just yet! ;-) And isn't Fish at least just a little adorable? ;-) Possibly I am biased, having had him crowding my head during the forging of his chapters, and I can't help loving all the pretend people for letting me play with them. Ahem. So. Thank you all so much for reading, and for sharing your thoughts. Lots of love, and see you next weekend! :-*


	13. Who's Your Daddy?

**-x][12][x-**

* * *

**Who's Your Daddy?**

* * *

_You can't hear me cry, see my dreams all die, from where you're standing on your own. / "So Cold" by Ben Cocks feat. Nikisha Reyes_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

Bella stared out over darkening waters from behind the colossal windows that were her prison now. The sun was setting and soon he would be passing the ruling baton to the moon, for sinister clouds to dart beneath her watchful gaze.

"Kind of fitting," Bella thought out loud. Suitable for her captor in any case. She exhaled, frustrated, and stood from her seat. All this waiting was driving her out of her mind.

Steven, too.

Bella had tried, she had tried and tried to get him to give her something, anything, but ever since his last warning, she kept to herself. She had only herself to blame, of course, but she couldn't stop wondering. Was it only a threat, meant to scare her, like, _You better shut up or else_?Or was it because he truly didn't want to do whatever it was he kept himself from doing? If only she could loosen her jaw enough to speak, she would ask, but intuition had taken over, as if to save her from herself.

She had to admit to the hopeless wish though: if she could just get past that line that Steven had warned her not to try and cross then she could talk him out of whatever he was planning, and she could go home.

Maybe.

She needed to know what had happened to Jacob. Perhaps _that_ was the reason behind her shoving fear aside to continue pressing Steven's buttons, against his advice, against her better judgment (which incidentally kept deciding to abandon her, so no wonder she soldiered on).

But right now she was all alone. She and the moon and a great army of darkness—outside, up above, behind her, and below. There were no neighbors, but the ocean wasn't all Bella saw from where she sat on the lounging chair that rocked with each little movement. There was a harbor, lights scattered along the docks, and a little way farther up along the road a tall sign with the familiar white star in a red circle, a red hammer in the middle. In actuality it was a T, but she had always thought it was a hammer, despite the company name.

And somewhere down there was Steven, running errands and getting them dinner.

This Steven was somehow, in spite of the usual belligerence, different from the one that had harassed them in Phoenix, Bella could see that now. This Steven seemed nervous, twitchy. Worse now than when they had arrived, and it didn't look like it would get better any time soon. He never remained in one spot for too long, and he was constantly checking his phone, pacing, picking up objects here, setting them down there. All nerves and mania. A lump of ice sank to the pit of her stomach, chilling her from the inside out as their last encounter swam before her vision. _I'm not going to get out of here alive,_ echoed the frightful whisper in the back of her mind.

She turned it a deaf ear and guessed, when she analyzed the situation, that most of all she wanted to believe what he had told her, that if he had wanted to hurt her—any of them—he would have done so already. An insufferable piece of her brain, that persistent voice that stayed with her even now, telling her there was good in every person—you just have to find it—coaxed and cajoled her to look for good intentions: _He doesn't want to hurt you, he isn't a bad person, deep down he's not. _And if she could break through, then she could convince him to help.

Ha. Right. No. _How_? In some really strange, backward and misguided way, perhaps. But just _maybe_. Unlikely. Truth was, he had taken her under false pretenses and driven them over the stateline, and now they were in an unknown little town somewhere, waiting. Endless waiting.

She stepped up to the window. How long did it take to get some food?

Just after they arrived, when he left the first time, he didn't return until what seemed like hours later, bearing eggs and meat, assorted ingredients for sandwiches, bread, something to drink, a wad of napkins, and a few fruits—apples, bananas. _Preparing for the end of the world? s_he'd wondered, when what she should dedicate her time doing was working out a plan on how to escape.

Cupboards banged in the kitchen and Bella jumped.

Steven was back and unpacking a brown paper bag when she poked her head in. Ready-made meals to stick in the microwave (she guessed he hadn't appreciated the gesture of making french toast). More apples. She didn't like apples, but Steven seemed to have a true obsession with them—he had one in his mouth already.

"You were gone for a long time," she said, an unintended accusation. He paused to look at her with a twitch of humor, then took a bite and began chewing cheerfully. He seemed better, not so nervy, which was both a relief and suspicious.

"Missed me?"

"How long are you going to keep me here?"

He gave her a one-shoulder shrug, nothing more, and continued emptying the bag.

She had to bite down.

No answers.

Nothing.

She couldn't take it.

"Oh, come _on._ Why tell me you'll take me to Jacob and not do it?" She had thought about this now, and the only person who could make Jacob disappear would be Nathan, which meant that if Steven knew Jacob's whereabouts he was in league with Nathan. She wouldn't say it out loud, though, in case her knowing would change whatever game plan they had for the worse. "How did you know he was missing?" She waited and waited. No reply. Not even an acknowledgment he had heard her. "Steven!"

He flattened the bag and folded it in half. He put it away and then held up two containers, looked at her. "What'll it be?" She felt it when her face slacked, how she solidified until the incredulity had spread through each layer, immobilizing her while something hot and relentless claimed her. "Not hungry then?" Another one-shoulder shrug, and she lost it.

She ripped both packets from him and threw them aside. "No! I'm _not _hungry. I'm _scared_! I'm angry, and I'm tired. _Tired_. And pissed that you tricked me and keep ignoring me and hold me here when I just want to go _home_! So, can you _please_ just tell me—give me a clue—a hint—_anything_!"

She was operating on a generous shot of adrenaline alone, so when he grabbed her and trapped her with his strength, the edge of the bench-top cutting into her lower back didn't hurt as much as it probably should.

"Calm down."

"No!"

"Yes."

"NO!" she screamed. _Careful now_, a small voice told her as Steven's grip tightened. Bella's pulse hammered through her veins, making her face throb. Where his hands wrapped around her arms, she burned. It seared and it stung. Each swell of blood pulsed against the obstruction. "Let me go," she finally whispered when he made no attempt to speak or move.

"I told you I _could_," he said. He loosened his fingers—blood rushed through, a cold flush—but didn't let her go fully. "Not that I _would_."

"You intended for me to _believe _you would," she said, but barely audible. Something other than the fury she had felt mere seconds ago was gaining the upper hand, setting her limbs in a shiver. "You needed me to get in the car with you, so you told me whatever I wanted to hear, don't deny it."

"I'm not."

Pain paralyzed her vocal chords and she knew tears weren't far behind. She tried to ask "Why?" but all that came out was a wet, choking sound, and that was when he stepped back. She flopped to the floor, a boneless pile, and thunked against the cupboards. Above her wretched attempts to stop herself from bawling outright, she heard him exhale exasperatedly.

He sagged down next to her. The presence was hard to mistake when she was so cold and he was warm. And while she thought an asshole should be cold, she almost leaned into it, but caught herself and curled into a tight ball.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't want to hurt you, but you just keep pushing and pushing—" He puffed out a weary sigh. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't treat you like this."

Those words, and that was her limit. She had bottled up too much and it flooded her entirely. The sobs wanted to turn her inside out. Why? _Why_? And eventually, "Why? Why, Steven? I don't get it. _Why_?" She didn't expect him to answer, she knew he wouldn't, but it didn't stop her from asking, from needing to understand what he wanted with her. What purpose did this serve?

Now, when all dams were released, more thoughts surfaced, more fears. What about her mom and dad? Ashley and Jesse? Were they okay, or had something happened to them, too? She remembered Steven had once upon a time expressed his concern about the safety of Ashley and Jesse. Was that all a lie? Just like everything else seemed to be? Would history repeat itself, but with her own parents? Was that what this was? She had to know.

"What about Ash and Jesse? You said you cared—"

"Damn it, Bella, stop. Just fucking stop." He shifted, and she flinched when he touched her. "I'm not going to hurt you!" he snapped, then muttered indecipherable words. "Just . . . god_damn_ it. Will you . . . _motherfucker_. How many times do I have to tell you: _I_ _don't want to hurt you._ _Any _of you."

The frenetic tenor of his words got her to lift her head, to face him, and a heavy frown wiped his usually hard glare, revealing a vulnerable stranger to her that desperately sought someone to believe him.

"You _don't_," she said. Her voice didn't want to obey. "Act like it. Mean it. _Show me._"

There was a knock on the door then, an ominous echo in the naked silence between them. She stared at him as he stared back. He blinked, and then, just like that, as if some invisible force had been behind the raze of the barrier, it now let go of its intervention and hard lines snatched Steven's face, took him out of her sight.

She meant to get up, but the quiet calm shuddered at the slam of a door. She paused.

"Weren't expecting me, were you?" she heard a man say.

Silence.

"You've got some nerve, boy, you know that? Go on now, give me one of your excuses. Tell me. I'm all ears. _Talk_." Hurried shuffling of feet, stumbling, and then— "I said, _talk_, goddamn you." A crash as something fell to the floor and shattered.

"Get your hands off of me," Steven bit out. "I'm not telling you a damn thing."

The slap sent a sharp sting through Bella's chest, and she shot up to dart out of the kitchen. She came around the corner so fast she nearly skidded, her socks finding no purchase on the slick flooring, then she stopped.

Nick Kirkland stood ruddy-faced and livid in a wordless face-off with a rumpled and even more infuriated son.

Wide-eyed and utterly dumbstruck, Bella looked from one to the other. Nick's brand blazed down the side of Steven's face. Nick eyed her in shock.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Her mouth worked. "I. . . ." Come to think of it, she would like to know that, too.

"What is she doing here?" Nick asked Steven. Then, when he didn't get an answer he roared. "_Answer me_!"

"Steven?" Bella tried to connect as she battled her very own tornado of denied questions. "What's going on?" Nick's unquestionable surprise in seeing her left her thoughts flailing through a storm of confusion.

"Well," Nick said, composing himself, "Found out you took a few weeks off and couldn't be bothered telling your folks." And Steven's glare grew impossibly more murderous. "And then I talked to Edwin, that was a disturbing conversation," Nick continued. He glanced around the room. "So I followed it up, made a few calls." He looked at Steven intently. "Went to your apartment and had a look around."

Steven didn't reply; something frightening paced in the back of his eyes.

"I ran a trace on your credit card, by the way," Nick said. "Since you have to be wondering how I found you."

"Of course you did," Steven offered, dispassionately.

"You little cunt." Nick's voice was suddenly thick with suppressed rage. "I ought to—"

"What? Smack me around some more? By all means, do it. I know you want to."

"You think you're smart, boy."

"Me, smart? Wouldn't dream of it. You taught me better, didn't you? But you know what they say about the apple and the tree, except . . . _damn_. You're not my dad, are you, Nick?"

"Shut your mouth." Nick looked like he was seconds away from tearing Steven apart.

"Yeah, I thought so." Steven folded his arms. "Nick Kirkland, outstanding detective and hero of the neighborhood and he can stick his cock wherever he likes, whenever he likes, but his wife? No. _Oh, no no no._ Fuck that little whore. Right?"

"You're walking a fine line, boy. Now, knock it off."

"Why? Come on, Nick. Bring it on. Do it. _Do it_."

"Don't tempt me."

Steven laughed cruelly. "I tempt you no matter what I do. You can't even look at me without thinking about it. You know who it is and he's smiling at you right now, isn't he? The way he smiled at Mom. Pisses you off when I smile, doesn't it?"

"_Be quiet_! Quit playing. I'm not discussing it."

"Oh yeah, you are."

"No! You're going to tell me the damn truth. You know what I'm talking about, boy. You got to Rebecca, say it. She was _there._ I knew she was because I saw the records with my own damn eyes. One day there, next day gone. But _you knew_, and you're the one that took her away from me, you little prick."

"Oh, right, I see. You want to jump straight to that? Okay. Let's talk about it." He looked at Bella. "Actually, why don't we back up for a minute, and you can tell her about why Rebecca went missing in the first place? And let's not pretend you have no idea what _I'm_ talking about."

Bella's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"Go on, Nick. Tell her."

Nick lowered his head to rub wide hands over the already-disarrayed patch of thinning hair.

"_Tell her_," Steven repeated, more forcefully this time.

"I'll tell _you _something." Nick came at them and shoved a finger into Steven's chest. "You're just like him," he sneered, the vehemence in the words so vicious it seemed his entire body convulsed with relief to be rid of it. "Think you've got what it takes, that you know how this works—I'd just bet you're thinking you've got it all figured out right now, don't you?"

"Better than you do, I'd say."

"Now you listen here, you little twerp. You can hate me all you want, don't think I don't know you. But you listen to me now, listen carefully. Whatever you think you've got under control, you don't. You got that? You're being played for a fool—not that I give a shit if you go down. But you're not taking me with you." He took a pause to lean in, his sour breath permeating the air. "Don't think for one second he isn't one step ahead of you. Whatever you're thinking, he's thought it, including whatever contingency plan you think you've got the brilliance to come up with—"

Steven slapped Nick's hand out of the way. "Get out of my face," he said. "You don't know anything about me."

Nick scoffed a laugh. "But I do."

Bella looked down when she felt Steven's arm brush hers; she noticed the twitch in his wrist, the clenching and uncurling of his fingers.

"I said: _get out of my face._"

"Go on, then," Nick taunted, one corner of his thin, chapped mouth rising. "You asked for it and here's your shot, so take it."

"Back _off_."

"Steven," Bella said urgently, and wracked her brain for something useful, ending with a lame conviction: "It's not worth it."

Ha. As if he would listen. They were so screwed.

She felt Nick's gaze on her then, a heavy scrutiny. Without warning, Steven's hand was on her hip, his arm pressed into her front as he pushed her backwards. She stumbled under his guidance and grabbed the tail of his shirt to stay on her feet. "You leave her out of this," he said.

"Too late for that."

"No it's not."

"I'm not surprised, though, you taking prisoners like this. What was it that did you in?"

"Shut up."

"She got in your way?"

"I said: shut up."

"Or didn't she want to put out? Not that she looks unwilling now, the little whore."

Bella's jaw dropped. Steven's fist flashed out; it connected with a nauseating crunch, and Nick doubled over, hands clutching his face as he shouted agony and vile curses.

"Get out," Steven said, and his voice shook. He stood over Nick's writhing form. "_Go._ I'll kill you with my bare hands, I'll fucking do it—" Nick started chuckling, a distorted sound.

Steven went for him, but Nick spun out of the way, a swift shuffle, one hand inside his jacket. He rose up and extended his arm with a gun at the end. Blood wept from his bent nose, a bizarre match to his curling lips.

"Come on, boy," he garbled. "Get on with it."

Behind him, Bella thought she saw the door crack open. Nick's attention was trained on Steven though, undivided, and he missed the reflection of pale light that danced forth across the floor.

A too-loud sound exploded through her brain and entire body, as if she had been literally struck by lightning.

And another.

The hollow yet thick deafness that followed in its wake whooshed through her skull, and her lids fluttered . . . .

She was on the floor, arms thrown over her head, and a high-pitched signal, like an old TV, just a million times worse, built onto itself until nausea curdled in her belly. She heard her name, a woman was calling her name, calling Steven's name, while he was swearing his head off.

"Motherfucking_ cocksucker._"

A stranger's voice joined the cacophony. Was it the police, finally? Had they found her? The Marshals? What just happened? Off-balance, the room and the shadows tilted along with her.

"Get the fuck off."

"No, you're hurt. And you, stay back!"

"I agree with her: you are very badly hurt. Let me help—"

"No. I'm not. I said: get off me and check her."

"Will you listen? And for the last time: one step closer and I swear I'll shove my gun down your throat!" The shouting voice came closer. "Don't let your guard down, Steve. Don't trust a word he says." Then it grew gentler though it remained firm. "Bella. Look at me."

A face hovered in front of her, framed by a curtain of black. Those eyes. She knew those eyes. The figure swayed, inclined its head then leaned in, soft skin and silky hair against Bella's cheek.

"I've got you, sweetie, come on." Arms circled her and pulled her up, gave her stability, stilled the world around her and let her come back into focus.

First, she saw Nick's still form in a glinting pool of blood. Then the smell hit her, a pungent, rusty tickle in her nose.

Steven spoke: "You heard her. Don't move."

There was a movement in her peripheral view, and she turned toward it. Bella froze in her savior's arms.

"Oh my God, Steven!"

Steven had one arm across his middle, hand tight against his side where blood soaked his shirt, his fingers stained by it. His other arm trembled as he fought to keep the gun in his hand trained on a figure kneeling not far from Nick's body, hands on his head.

The stranger watched Bella, not seeming concerned in the least about his proximity to the pool of blood nearly licking at his knees. "You have no idea how relieved I am to see you're still alive," he said.

"Who are you?"

"Not the smart guy I thought I was, by the looks of things. But I'm a fast learner, so ask me again in an hour."

"Poor baby. It must really suck to get beaten at your own game."

The stranger shrugged, unable suddenly to look anywhere else but at the latest speaker.

Bella struggled free and turned to face her captor and owner of the voice. Somehow she already knew but was stunned into silence either way. Her ears were still ringing, the ground was still uneven, but she knew now why that face had seemed so familiar.

"Rebecca."

**-xo][O][ox-**


	14. Jack In The Box

**-x][13][x-**

* * *

**Jack In The Box**

* * *

_And there's no hell that he can show me that's deeper than my pride. / "Somebody To Die For," by HURTS_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

Getting from Harstine Island to La Push only took them a few hours, but those few hours came dangerously close to stretching into a never-ending prison of silence after Jacob found out his dad had been thrown Weaver breadcrumbs over the years—and eaten them, too.

He was too pissed off and stunned and relieved, and too proud to tell which meant more and which to give power to.

As if she had read his train of thought, Savannah broke into his reverie. "I guess I wasn't exactly as honest with you as I could have been. I'm sorry."

Jacob was ready to go off on a tirade, an over-indulgent and self-righteous sermon of justified ammunition, but lastly saw the true motivation of such a speech and puffed out a despondent sound. "It's all right," he said and meant it. When it all boiled down, his dad's life had never been at risk, not in the way he had feared and imagined, and in the face of that, attacking her for dishonesty was pointless when neither of them were paragons of perfection.

He slumped his shoulders and leaned heavily into the backrest.

The closer he seemed to get to the bottom of things, for some reason, the worse he felt. Ghosts of despair whispered in his ear: _none of this would have happened if you'd just kept your damn mouth shut. _Then. Now. Rebecca had taken the road of solitude, the one letting her keep all angles clear. No one to worry about, no one to care about, no one to make her _weak_.

Hold on now. What was he suggesting? That Bella had made him weak? It was the last thing she'd done. If not for her, he might have been roaming the streets alone and diving through the worst pits of night to get by because he wouldn't have dared to step out into the brightness of the day. No. Bella made him _strong_. Without her he was lost and empty. Bella sure as hell was worth fighting for, and so were the Swans. And he would soon get to see his dad, so what was really the problem now?

"Jacob?"

He shook himself back to the present. "Yeah, sorry. What?"

"You should try and sleep."

"I would if I could, I'm just . . . Never mind."

Savannah didn't look assured, but made no attempt to change his mind.

He stared off into the middle-distance while trying to make sense of this unidentifiable feeling that wouldn't leave him alone. That was when he recognized that he just didn't want to deal with this. He wanted to go home.

As his thoughts continued to spin, he came to the fast conclusion that, right now, he wanted to go to school and drive Bella from work and play his guitar and slouch on the sofa with his girl while trying to keep his hands to himself . . . under Charlie's ever watchful scrutiny.

But then, as if to point out the selfishness in that line of thinking, and to remind him what total jerk he was, his palms tingled with remembrance of Savannah's body beneath them. Guilt punched him in the gut, and he flipped his lids open. Powerless to shove it aside, he turned his head and watched Savannah as it dawned on him he hadn't exactly handled that as well as he could have. Words that were better left unsaid stuck in his throat, and when she noticed him staring, she met his eye briefly, then turned back to the road.

"What?"

Now that his speechlessness had given him a few seconds to process his idiocy he knew it was best to leave it be, so he diverted himself with a spur of the moment curiosity.

"Wondering how you got dragged into all this. You're not exactly one of the big sharks, no offense." The question clearly surprised her, and the stretch of silence that followed told him she had not prepared for their conversations going in this direction.

"I'd rather not tell you," she finally said. Jacob sat very still with a focus of blankness on the road ahead as he processed that sentence. "I know how that must sound, and I was going to make something up but . . . Does it matter how I got involved?"

His gut told him her reluctance to speak of it was a very bad omen, and that he shouldn't let her get away with it. The rest of him, the weary and exhausted, ready-to-go-home him, was all in favor of letting it go. If they were on the end-stretch now, about to put it all behind them, what difference did it really make how she came to be involved?

But he didn't get a chance for farther evaluation.

"Watch out!" Jacob shouted, and Savannah swerved back onto their side of the road, missing the oncoming car by mere inches. They slowed down until she had them pulled over to the shoulder of the road.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded at the same time Savannah, between shaky breaths, said, "Shit, that was close."

Her hands trembled when she let go of the steering wheel and sat back, as if in a trance. No longer restricted to mere glances, she turned her head toward him. "I'm sorry. That was really thoughtless of me, I shouldn't indulge conversation and drive at the same time."

"Yeah . . . Maybe someone up there's trying to tell us something."

Savannah laughed. "Like what? 'Slow down, kids.'?" She guiltily chewed off her grin when he shook his head. "Oh, look!" Savannah pointed ahead to a sign. "La Push!"

"Or that," Jacob offered, and just like that all he could think of was his dad. "Funny how years can pass and you feel like you're so different, but then. . . ."

"You'll always be you underneath it all."

Savannah took them up a familiar road and they traveled on in relative silence while Jacob fought off swells of unrelenting dread and excitement.

**-xo][O][ox-**

Savannah cut the engine in Billy's driveway—it and the yard was in a lot better condition than what Jacob would have imagined a yard belonging to a 50-year-old-something lone man would be. A light drizzle fogged up the evening, but even with the impaired light Jacob saw that the house had gone through some serious doing-up, and he wondered if that was due to a community-effort or a part of the Weavers' patrolling detail that Savannah had told him about.

A small pinch vied for his attention, a muted voice of the little boy within, gagged and tied and tossed onto a stained mattress, alone to make sense of sounds in the night.

Jacob got out of the car, just as the door to the little house cracked open.

Light spilled out from behind the man in the wheelchair, and he called them inside. A couple of minutes later Jacob found himself on his knees in the middle of his parents' living room, powerless beneath his father's long sought after yet weathered comfort. Well-known scents poured in from all around, but when he turned back for the kitchen, an image he would have done anything to wish away assaulted him, and the jolt of remembrance put a hitch in his step.

"You're all right," Billy said in a gruff tone.

Jacob couldn't tear his eyes away from the spot next to the paint-chipped table and chairs in the corner of the room.

"What's wrong?" Savannah asked.

"We've got many ghosts inside these walls," Billy offered in what Jacob guessed was supposed to be a low enough voice to pass him by.

Savannah wrung her hands before her, and while Jacob wasn't making his presence of mind known by watching them, he heard every word.

Still staring, he flexed his fingers, then shoved them into his pockets. "Back in a minute," he mumbled and left them to discuss the unfortunate events of before and after the Weavers invaded their lives, which he was sure they'd had plenty of opportunities to do before, so why go over it again?

Jacob steered his steps with every intention to go to his own room, but when he paused outside a door it wasn't his own but rather Rebecca's. His fingers slipped before he tightened his grip on the doorknob, and he told himself to get it over with and that it was just a room.

He shoved the door wide-open, and he didn't know what he'd expected to find, but all the same the half-empty space of what once used to be way too small for two girls seemed hollow and large.

"I gave the bed away. I figured it was better someone use it rather than it sitting here collecting dust." Jacob wasn't going to ask, but Billy must have thought he was about to. "Yours, too. Packed up all your stuff in boxes, thought them Marshals might send it to you, or otherwise I was just saving them for the day you'd get to visit your old man."

"Thanks," Jacob said, tightly. The excitement of seeing his dad and his childhood home had been ruthlessly conquered by the shadows that came crawling out of the long-forgotten nooks and crannies of bygones.

The air seemed to grow thicker by the second, and the last thing he wanted was to have another visual thrown at him, so he escaped as fast as he could, leaving his own room at least one untouched corner of his past to remember as he pleased. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to look at it, knowing he would never be able to erase its impressions once his eyes touched the vacancy it no doubt would present him with.

Back in the kitchen, he marched right up to the sink and grabbed a glass from the dish rack. He idly noted a dishwasher had been installed and wondered if that, too, was another consolation prize.

"How're you doing?" Savannah's voice was wary but whispered softly, and for some reason it irritated him like nothing else.

"How does it look like I'm doing?" he retorted. Her startled expression egged on whatever nameless emotion had decided to possess him. "Did you know it's in this very room your cousin shot my mom?" He turned to point out the spot. "There. The whole floor was covered in it. Mom's blood. And when Dad tried to protect us, Nathan shot him, too. Right in this spot where I'm standing."

"Stop being stupid," Billy ordered, and Jacob spun on him. The look on his dad's face—the endless tales he'd suffered over the years about the tragedy—robbed him of any insults he had been ready to fling, so he settled for locking his jaw and failing to block the image of blood that trailed the embossed patterns in the linoleum carpet he now found himself staring at.

Jacob didn't know why his body suddenly weighed a ton and he didn't know how much longer he could force it to stay upright either. He looked toward the table and chairs, but it seemed like he had no ruling power left to will his limbs to move him.

In spite of the fact that his dad and Savannah were watching, he couldn't hold back the years of escaped heartache and pain that overwhelmed him, nor the accompanying tears, but he did cover his face.

Savannah approached. Even with his eyes closed he knew her presence, almost familiar now, and he was too tired to reprimand the way her touch soothed some of the sickness under his skin, when at the same time his heart pumped nausea into his stomach. She had kept him in the dark and guided him straight into a sea of quicksand, but instead of hating her for it he knew it was nowhere close to what he probably had coming.

"I'm sorry," she said, for what must have been the thousandth time, as she hugged him. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry my family's caused you so much pain."

"It's not your fault," he heard himself say, which it wasn't. He was done, and didn't care if he bared her his shredded soul. And then he was clutching her and praying he could, if just for once, if only for just _one moment_, be released from the hate that kept tearing him apart.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this," he said. "Why didn't we play by the rules? How could I've been so incredibly fucking moronic to think we could do this?" The anguish consumed him whole, and all that bottled up self-hatred dragged him down into a maelstrom of should have, could have, and it was no use—_why didn't he_? "I should've killed him when I had the chance. I shouldn't've run, I just shouldn't. . . ."

"No, Jacob. No, you shouldn't have. You're going to get through this, and you're going to go home and see Bella. And one day all this will be nothing but a bad dream, you'll see."

"No, thanks. I have enough of those."

She must have tried to hold back on a laugh, but the soft sound leaked into her words. "Yeah? I'm sure you could fit another one in there."

"I don't think I can face her," Jacob said through the thickness in his throat, and Savannah pulled back to present him with a sad frown. "Not like this, not after leaving her when I promised I wouldn't do this shit anymore."

"Jacob—"

"Come on. Would you take it? If someone who claimed he loved you over everything else deceived you, time and again? Did _exactly—_" Savannah flinched when he smacked the ball of his fist onto the counter, "_—_what he promised not to do? Tell me you'd forgive that guy—deep down. Because I don't think you would. And neither should Bella."

But she would, wouldn't she? He could be worse than the devil and Bella would still forgive him, because that was who she was. And the absolutely worst part about it was that he couldn't stop himself from needing that from her so badly he was terrified of seeing her and losing every fight he'd put up to stop himself from craving her forgiveness.

Savannah didn't answer, which gave him a perverse sense of satisfaction, for being right, for shutting down another piece of him that needed Bella to keep him functioning as at least a passable version of a decent human being.

Just in case. In case she at last saw him for who he really was and realized he had nothing to offer her but a future of disappointments and regrets.

"So, what now?"

"Actually," Savannah said, "while we're on the subject—I have another confession." Her hands contested the space between them in a placating manner, a precautionary movement to a intuited retaliation. "Now, Jacob—"

The shrill ringing of the phone interrupted them.

"Black residence," rumbled Billy's voice, breaking the spell. Jacob watched his dad's expression intently as it turned from furrowed confusion to stoic calm. "No, I haven't. Yeah, I got it. You'll be the first to know." As soon as he hung up, Billy said, "That was Deputy Marshal Wade Stober."

"What did he want?" Savannah asked, seeming grateful for the distraction.

"To know if my boy's been in touch."

"Why did you lie?" Jacob watched his dad.

"Because they're a bunch of sissies," Billy explained as a matter of fact. "That's why."

"Sissies," Jacob echoed, then refocused on Savannah. "What were you going to say?"

Next phone to ring was Savannah's.

"Nathan," she answered, his name spoken with heavy relief. "Wait, sorry—you _what_?" The alarm in Savannah's voice snatched Jacob right out of his suspicious notions, and he looked at her. They stared at each other as she listened, and when tears welled up in her eyes, Jacob nearly stepped closer to offer comfort. "Nathan. Don't do this, okay? We can still fix it, you don't have to . . . Hello? Nathan? _Nathan._"

"Savannah? What's going on?"

"It's Nathan, it's . . . He's being reckless. I need to go. Now."

"Hey, now wait just a minute," Billy intervened.

"How is he being reckless?" Jacob filled in. "We've been—or at least I have—acting without asking much back, up until now. We need to _think_ before we make another move."

"I'm still leaving," Savannah said.

"No, you're not."

Savannah looked like he had slapped her. "Excuse me? I told you I don't condone of his actions, but I didn't tell you I want him to be punished. I understand your reluctance, Jacob, and your anger, I do, and I promised you safety, but not at the cost of Nathan's."

"So why did you swing me by here?" Narrowing his eyes, Jacob demanded to know, "Where is Nathan, anyway? The way I recall it, there was a warrant for his arrest, so what changed?"

Savannah folded her arms and regarded him with what was poorly attempted indifference. She was just about as good at it as Bella, which winded him.

"All right, then, Einstein," Savannah said. "What would you have me do?"

"Call home," he said. "Call whoever it is you call to get things done, or whatever it is you do. Get someone to track him down and bail him out of whatever trouble he's in."

"I can't. It's not what you think—it doesn't matter, he's too far away now."

"How do you mean?"

"He found her."

"Found who?"

Savannah's stricken features became more severe as something horrible occurred to her. "Or she found him," she whispered.

"_Who_?" Jacob demanded.

"Your sister," she said, barely audible now.

He would have laughed at that, since there was no way his sister would . . . "While he was cruising around the countryside, hiding from the FBI?" That sounded really uncharacteristically random and sloppy and not like the calculating psychopath he'd grown to know Nathan as. "Are you serious? Nathan's smarter than that."

"You'd be surprised. Rebecca outsmarted you, didn't she?"

He felt himself stiffen at the accusation, both on his own and his sister's behalf. "I have no freaking clue what you're talking about, but I don't think I like where you're going with this. She's got nothing to do with it." But something about all of this reeked. He didn't know what, but it was foul and it chased cold shivers up his spine. "Somewhere, someone just screwed up, okay? Come on, Savannah, we're just kids. Nothing's gone according to plan so far, not the way I see it. Tell me one thing that's worked out the way you wanted it to because you meant for it to happen that way. Name one thing."

Savannah said nothing, but he could tell she was giving it her best shot to dig up something, anything at all, if only to convince him she was still good for her word, because she needed him to work with her, he saw that. What for, he had no idea—she hadn't told him yet—and now he knew he should have pushed for the truth.

She began to shake her head; she saw what he was about to ask. She saw it because she understood she had failed. They all had.

"You should go home," she blurted. "Go home, Jacob, and forget about all this."

Her rapt terror put the brakes on any assumptions he had been ready to confront her with, and a terrifying possibility occurred to him. Who said she was working for the Weavers? Who said she was at all who she claimed to be? Jacob grabbed onto the edge of the counter; once again he fought for balance. This time, however, he wouldn't find refuge in Savannah's arms, because what if she had played him all this time just to keep Nathan safe and _only that_?

"Nathan's family has no idea you're here, do they?" It took one second, enough time for Savannah to swallow the truth, stubbornly, perilously, one last time.

Nothing could have prepared him for what came next, and in no version of this nightmare could he have imagined it, either.

He blacked out.

Next thing Jacob knew was his dad's commanding voice, roaring for him to stop. As if singed by flames, he released his grip on Savannah and shoved away from her. Fear and panic grappled for a winning hand as her wide eyes held Jacob captive in the cruel reflection of his very own failure. Had he finally become what he had all this time been so scared and fought so hard not to become? And here it was, staring him right back in the face, a mockery of his intentions for all the good they did him now.

Squeezing his lids shut, Jacob attempted to control the nausea that shook him.

"Jacob." Savannah stirred and took a step toward him.

"Stay away from me," he managed to say through the frail restraint on his turbulent emotions.

"It's okay—"

He moved so fast she tripped when she stepped out of the way. He hadn't meant to do anything . . . or had he? Had he before, when he didn't control his body? What difference did it make? The resultant disgust and repulsion for his own person her reflexive evasion caused didn't dampen his anger.

"Do _not_ tell me it's _okay_." He made himself inhale steadily, and just like that everything inside him seemed to leave in a rush and stumble. Blank-faced, he accepted defeat.

"I'm calling home," someone said, and it sounded sort of like him, but not really.

Billy did or said nothing to challenge the abrupt one-eighty decision, arrested as he seemed by Jacob's outburst or revelation—zapped by them. Savannah held both palms up, then went to sink down on a chair at the table.

It took him a good minute of gathering his wits about him, enough to search his brain and remember their home number. He would have called Bella directly but, eventually, after many failed attempts, his fingers tapped the sequence to the Alderson landline. Once the call connected, and Charlie's voice sounded strong and clear in his ear, he wanted it all to be over.

"Hey, Charlie, it's Jake—"

"Jake! Christ, kid! You've given us one hell of a scare. Are you all right, buddy?"

"I'm fine, Charlie. I'm okay. How's everything at home?" The pause was all the answer he needed, and by the time Charlie spoke to assure him everything was okay, he could tell by the sound of his voice that it wasn't.

"We're okay, Jake. Don't you worry about us. We're all fine, just worried sick about you. How long can you talk? Can you tell us where you are? Where's Nathan?"

He had to swallow several times to bury the trepidation hungering to trip him up, all the while trying to fend off the tremors working their way through his numb body. Before the ice in his blood clogged his throat, he begged, "Charlie, can I talk to Bella? _Please_."

"She's not here right now. We sent her over to Jolene's to keep her from going all Bella on us, you know? I'll send her a message, though, all right? How's that sound? I'll let her know you're okay."

It took all he had left to not slam the phone back in its cradle. _Damn you, Charlie_. The man couldn't lie for shit, and the gruff quality in which he began to speak closed the case: Bella wasn't there. She wasn't at Jolene's, and not anywhere else where they could get through to her. He wasn't even surprised. All along, he'd known this would happen. All this time and still he kept on making the same mistakes, over and over.

"I'm coming home," he told Charlie and hung up.

"_Jacob_!" Savannah called after him.

Jacob walked out, shutting his ears to any protests either of them could come up with. He'd witnessed what he was capable of now and he needed to put an end to these charades before they turned into something real, something ugly. He had pretended for long enough.

As expected, Savannah followed, but when he shot her a look of warning, she paused.

"If I find out you had something to do with Bella disappearing you can count on the fact that I won't stop, I won't rest for one minute until you, Nathan, and your entire family are behind bars. You wanted to make a deal? Well, these are my terms: get your hands off the car and let me go."

Wordlessly, she nodded and stepped back, and to stay sane he ignored the reason it was just that easy.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	15. Not Even You

**-x][14][x-**

* * *

**Not Even You**

* * *

'_Cause I made a rope, can I throw it out to you? You dragged me back home, I deserve to be rescued / "Crash Land" by Twin Atlantic_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

For once in her life, Bella wished she could throw a tantrum. One of those epic, frightening tantrums that always scared the crap out of people and gave the tantrum-thrower what they wanted—or so they would have you believe.

As she continued the contemplation, she remembered she had come pretty close, earlier in the kitchen, when Steven was offering her dinner and ignoring every single word she said. In fact, exactly the way they were _all_ ignoring her now. Screaming and being a brat had already proven useless, so maybe it was about time to change tactics.

The only thing Bella had managed to conclude after getting kicked out of the bathroom and being told to go wait in the car, while Rebecca patched Steven up with whatever was available in the first aid cabinet, was that they were leaving. All of them. Including Nathan, who was keeping them company in the bathroom, at gunpoint, for reasons beyond Bella's immediate understanding.

Why was he even there at all? And where the hell was Jacob? The image she had had of Nathan in her head did not fit this stranger by the same name, not even a little. He seemed more concerned with Steven's injuries and his safety rather than the barrel ready to guide a bullet into his forehead at the smallest step out of line. He had walked into bedlam completely unprepared, or was this the way he operated?

The front door swung open, revealing the subject of her contemplation. Behind him, gun in hand, came Rebecca. Steven followed closely, gait awkward and slow, so Bella decided to get out of the car.

"Get back in the car," Steven ordered before the toe of her shoe even touched the gravel.

"Seriously. Quit being stubborn and let me help." Bella ignored his sharp look, sidetracked by Rebecca marching Nathan up to a black sedan gleaming like a polished gem in the moonlight. "Where are you going?" Bella asked.

Unsurprisingly, Rebecca didn't acknowledge her. "Get in and cuff yourself," Rebecca ordered Nathan harshly. She tossed an item into the passenger side of the car, where he took a seat, prompting impatiently, "To the door, Nathan." As she waited, Nathan did what she told him to do, then looked up at his jailor for additional instructions.

Steven was apparently as clueless about Rebecca's intentions as Bella. "Bec, where are you taking him?" he demanded. But when he, too, was denied a reply, his temper kicked in. Bella only just kept him from throwing himself across the yard. He gave a weak try at shrugging Bella off when she gripped his arm tighter. "Goddammit, Rebecca, I'm not kidding. What the hell is going on?"

"To me it looks like I just saved your ass."

"Ha. Cute. But that doesn't answer my question," Steven said.

"Are you unhappy about something right now?"

"Apart from being shot and you looking like you're going to cart off an important witness? No, not really."

"How do you guys know each other?" Bella asked, uselessly, while staring between the two of them as they eyeballed each other.

"I'm sorry, Steve, but I thought you of all people would understand." Rebecca glanced at Bella now, finally, as a sorrowful shadow passed over her countenance. "You'll be all right, I promise. Can you do me a favor though? Don't let my brother blame himself, okay? He's good at that. None of this is his fault, not a damn thing."

A weight like a stone, cold and hard, settled in Bella's chest. "What are you going to do?" Asking that was like looking at a child with a bag of candies and wondering if they were going to eat it. Stupid. Incredibly so. Of course it was obvious what Rebecca was about to do. "Don't do this," she amended. "It's not your fault, either. And it's not your responsibility to make it right. Not like this. You and Billy are all the family he's got left. Don't you get you're hurting him if you do this?"

"He has you and your family."

"Of course he does, but it's not the same—"

"It will be all right, Bella," Nathan said, as if he knew what would happen next and had it all under control, which seemed highly unlikely considering he was cuffed to a car door. "I'll make sure she gets home safely."

"Yeah? Going to pay for my funeral, too?" Rebecca said icily. "That you're even trying to play your games here, now, makes you look ridiculous." With a poisonous grimace deforming her pretty features, she threw the door in his face.

"If you get in that car our deal is off, I swear to God, Rebecca."

"Take her home, Steven," was all Rebecca said before getting in the driver's side. The door closed and they rolled down the sloping driveway seconds later.

Bella let her aching hands relinquish their hold on Steven's arm and tugged the jacket tighter around her body as she stared after the disappearing car.

This was so screwed up. Jacob would be devastated. The very thought of having to repeat any of Rebecca's words to him made tears threaten behind fluttering lids as she insistently tried to keep them at bay.

Once Rebecca and Nathan were out of sight, exhaustion and a surge of hopelessness whipped Bella's feet from under her. Her knees hit the damp ground, and she pressed trembling hands to her face before stubbornness lost the battle against bleakness taking her over entirely.

She wanted to go home. She missed her parents, she missed her siblings, and Jolene. Even her room and tattered school books and chewed pencils. And right now she would do almost _anything _to see Nina, because she was the only one who knew everything and would have listened to all the things she wanted to say but couldn't.

As if to remind her of how far away from any of that she was, Steven nudged her shoulder. "Come on, chica. Let's move."

Before Bella knew what she was doing, she shrugged him off and whirled up to face him. "Get off me," she snapped. "Don't touch me. Don't even _talk_ to me. All you do is make it _worse._" She sucked in a ragged breath. "Actually, no. I'm going to ask you one last time, because I'm dense like that, but why did you bring me here?" She was so consumed by her anger that she forged ahead without even allowing time for the hollow silence he gave her where answers should exist. "Tell me!" she shouted. "What did you do? And where is Jacob, if not with Nathan? _Where_! How could you do this, Steven? How could you? I hate you!"

"Bella," he said, "calm down," and she literally saw nothing but red before it washed her sight away completely.

"Screw you!" She slapped him, then shoved his chest so roughly that he stumbled backward. His back hit the side of the car. "Seriously, _screw you_, Steven, and screw your 'calm down' and your _condescending bullshit_! Take me home, take me home right now!"

The night around them seemed to pause, as if all along it had been their solemn spectator and was now as stunned as she was. Nothing but her own chopped breathing could be heard, and icy winds chilled the hot tears on her cheeks, leaving trails of burning cold behind.

As she stared, mouth hanging open, Steven's expression morphed from something predatory and dangerous into a reflection of all that she felt as soon as she acknowledged how crazily she had just behaved.

"I . . . I'm sorry," she whispered, then bowed her head to stare at the blurry ground. "I don't know why I did that. I just . . . I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said. "You're going into shock." Suddenly she found herself suspended, locked in a strange fear-like state when her face was captured in a firm but not rough grip. Steven raised her chin so she would look at him. "It'll be over soon," he said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. "And I _am_ taking you home, so can we start by getting in the car?"

Bella swallowed. Guilt thrummed through her like a dull ache.

He was taking her home.

As it began to sink in, Bella found she couldn't process what she was hearing. After all her attempts of begging and pleading and screaming like an insane person for him to take her home, and now he did a one-eighty? She blinked, once, twice, but he was there when she opened her eyes. She was in the middle of nowhere with Steven Kirkland, and his face was still drawn from the strain of his injury . . . and now her very own contribution to the pain.

"Yeah, I know," he said in reply to a question she hadn't heard. "But don't worry." A vague smile gentled his face, making his next statement a parody of the pointless charade. "I'm still an asshole, so don't get any ideas."

"But I . . . _Why_? I just don't . . . What made you change your mind?"

"I just did."

From what she knew of Steven, he didn't just _do_ something. There had to be a reason, even if that reason evaded her immediate perception of this new turn of events. Rebecca's order wouldn't sway him, right? And Bella's bitch-smacking, though without a doubt painful, wouldn't bend someone like Steven.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No. I'm not letting you off the hook that easily. Come on . . . _Seriously_?"

"Seriously, what, Bella? You get to go home; isn't that what you wanted?" Her mouth worked, but no words accompanied the action. "I'll take you home, and then you can do whatever you want. Call the cops—on second thought, I'm sure your dad will beat you to it."

"That's not fair," she said, accusingly, but then fell silent in consternation. What did she mean by that? He had kidnapped her, had planned only-God-knew-what with Rebecca, and had been chummy with Nathan. He wasn't stupid, and it was only natural that Steven took for granted she would call the cops. So why did his assumptions cause her stomach to knot with unease?

She picked through the prospective consequences of his actions. There would be interrogations, lawyers, court hearings and, yes, eventually jail. She didn't know how much time he would do, but he would definitely go to prison. So long as she told the truth . . . .

Bella found herself watching Steven and imagining him behind bars, only to slam into a solid and conclusive rejection of such a fate. Even for him. She didn't want any part in condemning him. Even after what he'd done.

"Come on, princess, get in the car." He held the door for her, then waited.

For once she didn't need coaxing or encouragement, and she did as asked. Steven took an extra couple of minutes to get inside—she watched him get out his phone and then he was talking to someone.

A few minutes later they were on the road.

"Called in Nick's death," he said as they picked up speed. "And I gave them the registration number on Nathan's car. Rebecca will probably dump it the first chance she gets, but here's to hoping."

Bella would have passed a comment, but she couldn't stop the insanity she had embraced while Steven was being the sensible one, making calls to authorities and the likes. She spoke before she made up her mind, before she could even process or figure out the specifics of what she was willing to do to keep Steven out of justice's path.

"You can't go to jail. I won't tell anyone you kidnapped me, I'll just say I went willingly." Slapping both hands to her mouth, she stared at Steven's suddenly rigid form. She dropped her hands back down when he offered no reply. "Come on, Steven, you're the brain, so come up with something. We've got time, right? Between here and Independence, we can come up with a solid cover-story to keep your ass out of jail."

Heart pounding, she waited.

The soft hum of the engine and the faint thrum of wheels on asphalt, patter of rain against the windows and the roof of the car, were the only sounds filling the inside of the car as they drove on in silence.

"Say something," Bella whispered.

"You're an idiot."

"Tell me something I don't already know."

"You think I'm hot."

"Be serious."

"Am I wrong?"

"Ugh." Frustrated, she rubbed the spot between her brows. She would have thought he'd be more willing to work with her on this. She shot him a sideways glance. "Aren't you at least a little concerned about staying out of prison?"

"What makes you think I'm planning on getting caught?"

_Oh, hi, Mr. Arrogance Personified._ "You're way too cocky, has anyone ever told you that?"

"All the time. What's your point?"

"My point is that you're human." As if to emphasize this, Bella eyed his middle. "Tell me, since you want to play the mysterious enigma who has all the answers but no replies—how're you going to get that fixed without seeing a doctor?" She reached out to lift the hem of his shirt, and he jerked away from her.

The resultant low moan grew into a loud shout of profanities: "God-fucking-_damn it_ and motherfucking fuck!" He sucked in a few shallow, ragged breaths, then turned a flat stare her way. "Point taken," he said with great difficulty. "Now . . . don't do that again."

"I'm sorry," she muttered, sincere though she was. "I wasn't trying to make a point, but now that I have, you . . . Well, yeah, you get my point." She pursed her lips to hide the little smile that threatened to take over her mouth when he cocked one brow in question. "Captain Obvious to the rescue," she said quietly to herself.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

"You're fucking weird."

_Wingman Obvious?_ She snorted a laugh, then cleared her throat. "Again, tell me something I don't know."

"I think I should just prepare for jail time right now." When she snapped her head up to glare at him, he knocked the intention up a notch with a wry grin. "Okay, sorry. Easy, chica. Relax. We've got a long road ahead, so I'll keep the love to a minimum. What do you say?"

Was this his idea of a peace-offering? Admittedly, the luxury of camaraderie was not in the cards for them—as he had so eloquently hinted at—so she would just be thankful for any agreements between them, in whichever forms they came.

"Fine," she said. "Truce."

Steven may not have given her much of a reason to believe he had been looking out for her, but their new destination inspired a show of good faith on her part. And, after all, she was safe. An odd conviction, she had to admit, current circumstances considered. She couldn't tell whose side he was on anymore.

Only a few minutes later, Bella fell asleep, slumped against the window with her rolled up jacket serving as protection from the vibrations through the glass.

**-xo][O][ox-**

Bella knew she was dreaming when she found herself surrounded by an ocean of cushions and a pair of strong arms. She tried to turn toward him, but he wouldn't let her, causing her to settle for snuggling into his embrace as she wondered, "How long've you been here?"

"Not long." He nuzzled the back of her head as he drew lazily up and down the inside of her wrist, across her palm as she uncurled her fingers. "I missed you today," he whispered.

"Missed you, too," she said. She wanted to tell him how much she worried when he went away, how each minute that passed beyond what they had agreed on stole her sense and raced off with her thoughts to paint up all kinds of awful scenarios. But then he tugged her round, and his reassuring smile was like opening the window to a room that had stayed closed for far too long. A cool breeze caressed her skin.

"It was empty," he told her, then kissed her forehead. She relaxed under the brush of his lips. "I knew it would be. We're okay, babygirl. We'll be okay." He kissed her again, and again, all over, until she was breathless.

With a bang, the window blew closed, then slammed open. A thousand glass shards rained down and fanned out across the floor. Bella's throat clamped around a scream as a strange shadow crept in over the sill, its mouth shaping her name.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	16. Are We There Yet?

**-x][15][x-**

* * *

**Are We There Yet?**

* * *

_We took it all apart, but I'm wishing I'd stayed. In the backroom, something I heard you say. / "We'll Be Coming Back," by Calvin Harris_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

In the clutches of unease left behind after the strange dream, Bella let her mind wander into shaded areas as she mulled over the mystery that was Steven Kirkland. For her efforts, all she earned was a dim mess, and she lightly thumped her head on the window and closed her eyes. Her brain was about as useful as a Magic 8-ball.

"You think too much," Steven said, and she popped one lid open. "Don't look at me like that; I know what I'm talking about."

_Better back that up with some proof, buddy._ "Enlighten me."

"I guess it's only a matter of time now before you find out, anyway."

The cryptic insinuation pulled her brow into a high arch. She straightened.

"DNA says Nathan was in Nina's house, even if he swears he never set his foot inside the door. I'm not sure what motive they'll charge him with, but if he knew she had a way of getting in touch with you, and he needed to give her a reason to send that letter so he could trace it. . . ." Bella's mouth hung open. "Chances are that's motive enough. Anyway. He went under a different name down there," Steven continued, and Bella fought against the cold grip around her lungs and heart.

This was her fault. This was _all her fault_. But Steven forged ahead, oblivious to the tumultuous battle behind her blank expression.

"He assigned himself as Nina's therapist several months ago, before the murder—he hoped she'd confide in him, I guess. I never confronted him about it, so for all I know he didn't suspect I was keeping tabs on him. It doesn't look good, though."

"Oh, Nina," Bella said, promised torment building in her chest. At her wits end, she stared blindly ahead, seeing nothing but a world of frosted chaos. Was there no end to the misery this man caused? Who _was_ he? Evil incarnated? The devil himself? Who would do something like that? Choking back a hiccup, Bella whispered wetly, "Oh, I could—" She dug the tips of her fingers into the seat, felt her short nails scrape the leather. "I could _kill_ him."

"Sweetheart, he'd eat you alive."

A growl-like sound rasped in her throat. "I _hate_ him. I don't _care_ what he'd do . . . _God._" So long as she held on to where she sat, she might refrain from spontaneous combustion. All the same, such white-hot rage filled her that she didn't know what to do with herself, but each fiber throughout her tensing body screamed for her to do_ something_.

"Good thing I'm taking you home."

"Steven," she warned. "Shut. _Up_." From where she sat, she didn't trust herself not to attack him if he didn't adopt some _sense_. The kind that would open his eyes to the fact that she possessed no skills whatsoever as far as moderation went where the people she cared about were concerned. If she had known what she now knew when there had been nothing but a few feet between her and Nathan, she would have gone after him with her bare hands. Consequences be damned.

"If it's any consolation, Rebecca will kill him—if she hasn't already."

Bella didn't doubt it, not for a second, because it all made perfect sense, down to each tiny little hinted message between the few lines Rebecca had spoken earlier that night. If what Nathan had done to Nina made Bella want to kill him, then it wasn't a stretch to imagine Rebecca wanting to do so, as well. The trouble was, Bella didn't know what to do with it. All the overwhelming grief and anger was— "Too much," she said. "This is too much, Steven. I can't—"

"Head between your knees," he prompted.

"I'll be _fine_." Ha. And afloat down the river of de_nial_, too, on the verge of psychotic tendencies. "Just stop talking for a minute, okay? Please, I've had enough." Tremors stole her limbs, and the harder she tried to regain control, the worse she shook. "I can't go home."

"Yes, you can." Steven said something else, but she couldn't hear much above the furious chugging in her ears.

"We need to follow them," she heard herself say.

"No, we don't."

"Yes, we _do_. Turn around."

"Sorry, chica. No can do."

Indignation unfurled and burned through her so fiercely literal flames crawled up her neck and into her face. "Why _not_?" she all but screamed. "You. Rebecca. _Jacob—_" She nearly choked getting his name out. "Each and _every damn one_ of you can plot and scheme, but not me? No. God forbid I should be let out of my safe little cage. Just kidnap me and whisk me off to a house somewhere and lock me up so the big bad wolf can't eat me! You're such a hypocrite. You all are. Turn this car around or I'll—"

"What? Jump out of a speeding vehicle? People in movies have stuntmen; you don't."

"_No_," she said, deep-voiced and mocking. "They do? I had _no idea_. But . . . I'm just Bella—silly and cute and helpless and an _idiot. _What do _I_ know?"

"I thought you didn't want to talk about the obvious."

All that came out of her mouth was an unimpressive yet drawn out sound that was supposed to express what words or her unwanted actions couldn't.

"I'm taking you home," he repeated, a firm finality. "You're right, Bella. You _are_ an idiot, because this isn't you. Do you know what you are? You're a normal girl who should live a normal life because, unlike the rest of us, you have the chance to do so. You've got a family who'll do everything for you, but _because_ you're an idiot, you got yourself way in over your head, and for what? I fucking _told_ you to walk away."

"Oh, oh, you're . . . _Jerk_!"

Steven started laughing, then cut off abruptly, face contorted in pain, but managed a strangled chortle anyway. "Why? Because I want to do the right thing? Well, excuse me, princess."

"_Stop calling me that_!"

Without speaking, Steven gave her a look—one of his half-bored, half-amused ones—and suddenly Bella wondered why she was arguing with him. Only minutes ago she'd wanted to come up with a plan to keep Steven from spending a ton of time in prison with _real_ scum. And how would she do that if she were chasing after Nathan? In fact, how did she rationalize wanting to save Steven from the fate of a criminal while at the same time demanding he help her catch up to someone she wanted to do despicable things to which would _absolutely_ make them both deserving of a life behind bars?

_Who's the _real_ hypocrite here?_

She _was_ an idiot.

"Okay. I'm sorry. You're right. I'm not this person; I don't want to murder anyone. Nathan belongs in prison. Death's too kind for him." And to make sure he ended up there, she needed to go home and talk to her parents so they could help Deputy Stober catch him. "The Marshals will know what to do," she said, resolutely.

Steven had grown very quiet. Looking at him reminded her he was in bad shape, and he wasn't getting any better.

"Sounds good," he said, and as she watched, his lids began to droop.

"Steven," she said, voice softening. "Please let me drive. You look like you've got one foot in the grave already."

"Thanks. I knew you were secretly checking me out." She rolled her eyes. "Unlike you, I'm not an idiot. I'm not handing you the keys so you can turn the car around."

"I _won't_," she protested. "I promise. I may be an idiot, but I'm not a liar. . . ." Apart from keeping secrets from her parents. But that was then and this was now, and she hoped she would remember this lesson learned beyond today. Right now, at least, she stood corrected, and she had no plans on changing her mind.

His lack of reply encouraged her, and then the car slowed down.

She was surprised, but that he didn't fight her farther on the issue didn't make her want to do a victory dance. If he didn't resist, it meant he had to be feeling awful.

The car stopped. Steven made no attempt to move, which spurred Bella to get out. She rounded the car and opened his door.

"Before we switch, will you let me have a look?"

"I was wondering when you'd ask," he said. She met his eye, a wicked spark present despite his condition. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. That he was well enough to joke was a relief, but she could do without the suggestive comments.

"Keep it in your pants, buddy," she said as she hunched next to him.

"You're lucky I'm shot, or I'd take that as an invitation."

"Didn't your mother teach you that no means no?"

"Where's your sense of humor?"

Bella shrugged. This time he didn't move when she lifted his shirt, and she resolved to avoid peeking up at his face while inspecting Nick's handiwork. In what reality did a father shoot his son? The answer to that escaped her, and so did the sense of humor Steven was speaking of.

"Guess it got lost somewhere between now and twenty-four hours ago. I'm taking you to the hospital in Salem, by the way, just so you know." So long as he didn't worsen on the way, in which case she would drive him to the first ER she could find. "Hold this up," she instructed, indicating the hem of his shirt. "So it won't fall down."

Taking great care not to put her hands anywhere that would do damage, she furrowed her brow in concentration and placed gentle fingertips just above his hip, then lifted the edge of the bandage with her other hand.

"See anything you like?"

"You're disgusting."

"I wasn't talking about the blood and fleshy parts."

Unable to stop herself, Bella let her eyes wander to the intact areas of his middle which, if she were to be honest, happened to sport a pretty nice set of well-shaped abs. A blush tinged her cheeks, but she ignored it and chose not to reply. She heard him chuckle.

Quickly, but still carefully enough not to accidentally nudge any sore parts, Bella withdrew her hands and got to her feet.

"Okay. Let's get you into the backseat so you can rest."

"I'm letting you drive, not boss me around. I'm staying up front."

Bella really didn't have the energy to argue with him anymore, so she merely stepped aside and shoved her hands into her pockets. "Do whatever you want," she said, then waited. Of course she had to intervene and offer him support when he struggled to get up without much luck.

Together they maneuvered him into the passenger side, and she disregarded his look of disapproval when she lowered the seat. "Tough shit," she said with a small smile on her lips, teasingly adding, "Cripple."

"Shut up and drive."

Bella made a big show of readjusting the driver's seat, then wriggled a little to get comfortable. "Oh, yeah. Now we're talking." She winked and grinned triumphantly as she grabbed the gear stick. This would be a piece of cake, considering Charlie had taught her to drive a stick shift. "Hold on to something."

As if on cue, she stalled the engine, and Steven swore when he couldn't stop himself from laughing.

Bella sniffed, embarrassed and trying her best not to show it. "I meant to do that."

"I'm sure you did."

The second attempt saw them off smoothly. _Thanks, Dad._

**-xo][O][ox-**

What Bella feared the most, next to Steven passing out or worse, was that she would fall asleep at the wheel. She needn't have worried, however, since the farther she drove, the closer to home she knew she got, which kept her more alert than ever.

The drive to the border between Washington State and Oregon started in a crawl, but when she had assured herself that Steven had fallen asleep and not passed out, she added a little extra weight to the accelerator.

For the first time in her life, she broke the speed limit—and then some.

As the miles stretched out behind them she could only feel a surge of courage and anxiety to get home, and before long she didn't even watch the speedometer at all.

On the one hand she was glad that Steven finally got some rest, but on the other, she was left to her own devices to think up a story that wouldn't earn her dubious looks from her parents. One that would be believable enough to sell. But could she lie to Jacob?

Time alone for some 300 miles gave her an opportunity to turn several things over in her mind.

Would Jacob try to talk her out of protecting Steven? If she told him the truth—what really happened that night outside the theater—would that make him blind with rage? She knew Jacob's feelings and opinions on the subject that was Fish Kirkland, and if given the full story, she shuddered to think what he would do. She didn't want to lie to him; she didn't want to have to lie again, period, to _any_ of the people she loved. But she couldn't condemn Steven.

From time to time she spared him flighty glances, making sure his chest rose and fell and that his coloring didn't turn sicklier than it already was. If he hadn't protected her, if he hadn't put himself in Nick's path, would she have been the one with a bleeding gash in her side? Or would she have been dead?

Jacob had to acknowledge Steven saved her life. He, if anyone, had to understand that normal rules did not apply to extraordinary circumstances. Right? And if not . . . She would deal with that predicament when and if the need arose. Lying to him, however, she just would _not_ do.

Just to her parents. And the Marshals. And the justice system.

Bella swallowed back on a weak flare of doubt, crushing any chance of her chickening out before it even became a risk.

When they finally crossed the border, she'd managed to squeeze in two stops, and the last one had been just past Longview. She had since long gotten her second wind, but as she passed Portland, she felt surrealism like a fog around her brain, the tell-tale sign she was reaching the end of her rope, fast. If she nodded off now, she wouldn't wake up until they were in a ditch . . . or not at all.

She pulled over in the middle of nowhere, then stepped outside.

Winds of winter whipped her face. She looked up just as tiny ice feathers landed on her cheek, another on her nose, a third on her eyelid, and she blinked. "Snow," she thought out loud.

The clouds above were like fluffed steel, and for a few minutes she watched through the dwindling flakes descending in lazy, aimless motions. The ground beneath her feet was still bare, though covered in frost. She walked a few steps along the shoulder of the road, listened to the faint _crish-crish_ whenever she stepped on a tuft of frozen grass.

Bella got back in the car and huddled for another minute before easing the car back onto the road. She would have to take major care to hold her foot off the accelerator, or this trip might turn out an unfortunate ending.

Finally, at 8.02 a.m. they rolled up to the ER at Oregon State Hospital in Salem, and Bella's legs felt like jelly when she peeled her numb ass off the seat.

"Remember: I'm Katie Alderson," she said to Steven who'd woken up minutes before, covered in a fever and sickly sheen.

A man emerged through the entrance, coming straight for them.

"Hey, you can't park—"

"My friend's been shot," she said, her strength leaving her in waves as she gestured toward the passenger side. Her arm flopped oddly, and when the man had gotten the door open, he started shouting instructions to a younger woman who'd appeared with a security guard on her heels. "Where's a phone?" Bella heard herself say. "I need to call my parents."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Come with me," said a third woman having exited the building. "I'm Marylou Fabiani. What's your name, honey?"

"Be—Katie Alderson," she quickly corrected, then gave them Renée's cell phone number. "My mom's Deb, Deborah Alderson."

Then she burst into tears .

**-xo][O][ox-**

* * *

**Author's Note:** I just want to thank you all for reading and sharing your thoughts. I know my skills in getting back to you individually are non-existent, but know that I read and value each and every line.

As a little side note: Only Bella-chapters left. That was just the way the story decided to swing from hereon out. ;-)

All the love, and until next weekend! :-*


	17. Talk To The Hand

**-x][16][x-**

* * *

**Talk To The Hand**

* * *

_So much hate for the ones we love. Tell me, we both matter, don't we? / "Running Up That Hill" (as performed by) Placebo_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

As she sat there in the ER while waiting for her dad to arrive, she couldn't help but remember the time she broke her arm and met Rebecca and Jacob for the first time. It seemed a thousand years had passed since that day, and although the notion was silly, she imagined a world where physical aging mirrored that which you experienced, and not the actual years spent living through them, but hours. Minutes, even. And all those fleeting seconds.

She would be an ashen monument, and the faint whisks of air stirring in the wake of people walking in and out of the doors would slowly but surely blow her away, layer by withering layer.

She was beyond exhausted and convinced she could sleep a decade, if only that were possible.

At some point, someone came to tell her that Steven was stable and would recover just fine. The relief that crashed into her stole the lingering remnants of will to stay upright, and she curled into a ball where she sat. A nurse brought her something to eat, but the paper bag fell to the side, an abandoned gesture of kindness, alone and sad-looking on the seat next to her.

Numb and half-asleep, she waited, until a distantly familiar voice came to her through the never-ending activity in the waiting area.

"Katie!"

"Dad?" she croaked, lifting her head to look in the direction of the call. Charlie came toward her. His hair stood on end, and the dark shadows beneath his eyes were somehow accentuated by the light of relief, as if she were the answer to a million prayers. More than likely that was a small number compared to the true amount that had been said on her account.

A fresh wave of guilt knocked into her, but she scrambled to unfold her legs, and then she was clinging to the solid security of her father.

"I'm so sorry, Dad," she cried. Charlie's woolen jacket scratched against her cheek and smelled like rain and oil and pine, a soothing and centering comfort.

"Shh, hush now, honey. It's all right, I've got you. It's all right."

"Is Mom here, too?"

"You'll see her later, don't worry. Let's get you back home."

"Where is she?"

Charlie smoothed her hair back while keeping her steady on her feet. "We'll talk about it when we get home, okay, kiddo? But I promise you, she's fine, all right?"

She felt infested, like a nest of lumps had taken up residence where her stomach should be, and the fact that her mom wasn't there presented her with a new invasion of dread. Bella nodded, though; she was more than ready to leave the hospital.

As they were approached by the nurse who'd been keeping an eye on her, Bella unwound herself from her dad's arms.

"Wait. Can I see Steven before we go?"

The nurse exchanged a look with Charlie. "He's been moved to another department. But I will chat with his doctor. Why don't you go home now, sweetie? We have your number, and we'll let you know if there are any changes."

"But—"

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Charlie said, even though his tone contradicted the statement.

She wanted to argue.

She wanted to go home.

She opened her mouth once more, ready to justify herself. "But I . . . Okay," she finished instead, having lost her train of thought even before she began, and succumbed to a weary silence. What else could she really accomplish when she was all but dead on her feet?

One step at a time. It wasn't like Steven would up and leave . . . right?

**-xo][O][ox-**

Compared to the endless hours on the road with Steven, the trip from Salem passed under a handful of heavy-lidded blinks. One minute they were at a stoplight a couple of blocks away from the hospital, fat and sloppy flakes landing noisily on the windscreen before the wipers cleared them away with rhythmical squeaks. Then she gave a start, rubbed her eyes, just as the car rolled through a dense, snow-covered hedge. The welcoming sight of a moss-green house came into view.

"Well, will you look at that," Charlie said. "They made it." Bella turned a hazy gaze in the direction of her dad's attention, seeing that her mom's car sat next to Jacob's blue Golf. In spite of the stiffness in her sleep-deprived limbs, Bella clambered out of the passenger side with impressive speed. "Careful!" Charlie called after her. "It's slippery!"

She almost fell, but somehow the graceless flailing of her arms as she worked to regain her balance kept her on her feet. She reached the porch and grabbed onto the railing while hauling herself up the steps. The door came open, and this time she ended up on her ass when the soles of her shoes skidded right through her abrupt stop.

"Nina?" she managed in a choked whisper. Fresh tears poured, along with the conviction she had finally gone and lost her sanity irrevocably, but Nina threw herself down and hugged her so hard it couldn't be anything else but real.

"Oh, babe, I'm so sorry. I'm _so sorry_." Nina didn't let go, and Bella sucked in a lungful of air, only for her crying to steal it all away as she held on. She didn't know how Nina had found them, and she wouldn't have thought anything could have made her happy right now, but this did.

A second pair of arms found her, then, and even though no one spoke, Bella knew her mom's hugs well. It didn't matter that the ground beneath her was cold and damp; in that moment she had her parents and her best friend, and it was so much more than she could have hoped for only a few hours before that she nearly burst from joy.

Charlie finally ushered them inside, and once Renée was able to let her daughter go, she went straight for the kitchen to make them some hot cocoa and sandwiches. Both Bella and Nina offered to help but were promptly told to sit down.

Then, as Bella took in the lack of sounds, noting that Ashley nor Jesse were anywhere to be seen, she shot back off the sofa, heart in her throat. "Where's—"

"They're safe," Charlie interjected hastily and guided Bella back down. "They're with Greg and Nora." Nora Hefner was another Marshal, and her husband, Gregory, was with the Independence County Sheriff's Department. They had a couple of kids in college themselves, so they jumped at any opportunity to fill their house with the sound of kids.

Reassured, though trembling, Bella trapped her hands between her knees. "Okay," she said, a mechanical acknowledgment. "When will they be back?"

"I'm picking them up later." Charlie lowered himself onto the edge of the coffee table, then eyed them both. "Now," he said in serious tones. "Both of you need to get some rest—"

"Dad—"

"No. I know we've got a lot to talk about, and a lot to deal with, but right now you girls will leave the worrying to us. Are we clear on that?"

"Yes, Charlie," Nina replied.

"I'll try," Bella said.

"That's good enough." Getting up, he leaned in to kiss Bella's forehead. "It's good to have you back, Bells." All she could do was nod, and she watched after him with an ever-persistent sting in her eyes.

Next to her, Nina stirred. She took Bella's hands in hers. "Bella," she said, quietly, but no other words came. Bella turned to look at her friend, and while she appeared to be exactly the same, the grief etched into her usually bright countenance reminded her of what Steven had told her about Alleen.

Bella pulled her close, and fought for several moments to collect enough strength to say something, words of comfort, that wouldn't shake her apart. "I'm so sorry about your mom," she eventually said. "I was stupid and selfish and I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry. Please, forgive me."

"Oh, God, stop it. There's nothing to forgive, babe. I'm just so fucking happy you're okay . . . Well, as okay as you can be. If anyone fucked up, it was me." Furiously, Bella shook her head. "Yes," Nina refuted. "You're the smart one, and I always screw up. This has been established."

"Shut up," Bella sobbed, squeezing tighter. "We can both be at fault, or not at all. Pick one."

"Ugh. You're hopeless."

Bella sniffled a laugh. "I know." Reluctantly she let go, and she held Nina's gaze. Then, slowly, Nina's eyes narrowed.

"How'd you find out? Did you talk to Jacob?"

"What—no? Did you?" Nina nodded, and Bella's heart stuttered. "_When_?"

"Well, we didn't _talk_-talk, but I sent you guys a phone—_so stupid, _I know—and he texted me." Nina's mouth twitched with a trace of humor. "He made me tell him something only he would know, and I nearly crapped myself, like, how was I supposed to know that, you know?"

"Did he say where he was?"

"No. Not exactly, anyway." Nina studied her friend as if she were trying to find answers to questions she seemed reluctant to ask.

"What then?"

"Nathan's got him."

Bella would have flipped if she hadn't found instant comfort in the fact that he'd had the freedom to send a message, which meant he must have been okay, right?

That thought froze her in place.

"Something's not right," Bella said.

"What is it?"

"I just can't make sense of it. Why did he contact you and not the Marshals? Or even the cops."

"Because he couldn't talk, just text? Too risky if Nathan was closeby, you know?"

"Of course. You're right. I'm just so afraid that he's out there somewhere playing hero."

"He wouldn't do that," Nina reassured. "He'd be an idiot to do that, after everything that's happened—moving, changing names, and all that."

"He wouldn't be the only idiot of the bunch," Bella admitted, then immediately corrected with, "Referring to myself here." She averted her eyes so Nina wouldn't see the guilt brimming there.

"Actually," Nina drawled. "About that . . . What happened? Renée said you just disappeared, and then Charlie called her when we were a couple hours away from Independence, saying you'd been found."

Bella didn't know what to answer, and the longer she took to gather a response that wouldn't trigger a fit, the more she realized it wouldn't matter how she worded it. Nina would see right through her, so she had to tell her the truth.

"Babe, seriously."

Meeting her eye, Bella inched as close as she could. "Okay. But you've got to promise me you won't tell anyone, and I mean _no one._" Bella motioned in the general direction of the kitchen.

"Bella," Nina said, having lowered her voice. "I know I'm not the right person to say this, but honestly . . . _more_ secrets?"

Bella felt herself deflate, and she sighed. Once more the doubts welled up inside her, and here, in the safety of her home and no longer in the arms of uncertainty and fear, everything was suddenly _so different._

It was a cowardly move, but she had to buy herself more time. "How'd you find us?"

"Oh no, you don't," Nina warned. "I mean, I promise I'll tell you, but you first."

Making this up as she went had been a bad idea, and she should have prepared a believable story . . . so she could lie to her best friend? Why was she even trying to categorize the level of _badness_ of the lie, depending on who she told it to? Lying was lying, _regardless_ of who she told it to.

"I hate this," Bella whispered fiercely. "I'm a horrible person because I am trying to decide what justifies lying."

"I'm no expert, but usually people lie for two reasons: to hide something too awful to be told, or to protect someone they love."

Bella shook her head, back and forth. "Well, I don't . . . _love_ him." But how horrible were his crimes? To her they were tolerable. She had already forgiven him, and he hadn't even asked for it—probably never would, either. As that swirled around her muddled brain, she began to wonder if, after all, she weren't a victim of Stockholm Syndrome.

But he hadn't _done_ anything.

_Rebecca_ shot Nick.

_Rebecca_ kidnapped _Nathan_ . . . so she could kill him for all his crimes, probably.

_Nick_ had wanted to hurt her, hurt them both.

Steven had wanted to _protect_ Bella.

She was at a total loss and didn't know whether or not to trust her own judgment anymore. That, in turn, helped her arrive at the conclusion that telling Nina was the best course of action. Who else could ask her the right questions to let her look at this from a different angle? Without jeopardizing Steven, in case she were to, in the end, decide on sticking by him.

"Promise," Bella prompted with firmness, and Nina closed her eyes.

"Fine. Promise."

"Steven kidnapped me." Nina's eyes flew open, and as Bella had predicted, anger flickered to life in her face. "Shh," Bella hissed before Nina could blow her top.

With evident difficulties, Nina spoke in controlled tones. "If he did something to hurt you, like, I don't know, and you're inappropriately crushing on him for all the wrong reasons—" Nina took a deep breath. "Are you out of your fucking _mind_? You're going to lie to keep him out of prison? Oh, fuck, never mind. Don't tell me . . . you are, aren't you?"

God. She was _so obvious_. But that meant she was just being, well, Bella, right? Her insanity wasn't trauma-induced, she was just naturally an idiot. Excellent.

"Yes," Bella said, and knew the tiny smile playing at her lips only amplified how incredibly _crazy_ she must seem, then quickly clarified, "As in, yes, I want to keep him out of jail. I'm not crushing on him! Jeez, Nina."

"You're a nutcase," Nina said in all earnest, but no less incredulous.

"I know. This has been established." It didn't have the effect she had hoped for, but when Nina started gnawing her lip, Bella relaxed a little, relieved no fits of rage were pursued. "And just to clarify: nothing happened between us. Okay? He's just not as big an asshole as I thought."

"Spare me. I know why you're doing it."

Nina's sourness stung. "Sorry," Bella said, not sure what else she could say, but still aware enough to understand Nina's reluctance to support her plight. "I know he treated you like shit and I don't think anything justifies it, but—"

"He's a self-serving arrogant bastard," Nina interjected. "After you left he didn't talk to me again, not until probably a couple weeks before all this shit happened, and do you know why?" Bella shook her head no. "He was _bored_. He's a calculating _asshole_. He knew exactly what to say and do, and he basically implied I'm an idiot and don't know squat. He told me to be careful who I let in my door, like, hello? I swear, Bella, if you're going to stick up for him, do it on your own. I don't want any part in it."

Bella reached out for Nina's hand, but she withdrew it. If there were such a thing as bad timing as far as telling the truth went, then now was it. But in light of the damage Steven's words had done to Nina's self-esteem, telling her that her very own therapist, someone who was sworn to secrecy, had very likely killed her mom? Bella spoke softly. "I'm sorry he did that to you."

Nina's hands fluttered between tucking her hair back and fiddling with her earrings, all the while letting her gaze wander around the room. "Sure, there's probably _some _truth to what he said, like, I know I'm fucked up. I slept with him, might have even fallen in love with him. . . ."

"Hey," Bella whispered. "Don't say that. You're not effed up."

"Ugh. Don't go all understanding on me. I know I make all the wrong decisions for all the wrong reasons, so don't make me feel better about it." She swiped at the corners of her eyes, then faced Bella. "So, yeah. Maybe it was a good thing Steven came 'round when he did, 'cause when Mom died I was so fucking desperate for _someone_, but I'd already started questioning my slutty self, so, whatever."

"You deserve to be happy," Bella said. "It's okay if you're not, though. You've been through a lot of crap, so don't be so hard on yourself."

Nina's shoulder jerked, a vague yet indecisive movement, then she offered a lackadaisical smile. "Jake's geek show troopers kept me occupied. I went to Shane's place almost every weekend, and . . . _shit_, they're nearly as sick and twisted as I am."

In a flare of excitement, Bella forgot about murdering lunatics and cracked an almost wide smile. "How are they? What're they up to now?" The sudden enthusiasm sparked a twinkle in her friend's eye, coaxing some of the old Nina to the surface, until suddenly she sat up stiffly.

"Oh, fuck. They're probably trying to talk each other out of calling the Marshals. Jared called me after I took off—I left, like, in the middle of the night. I kid you not, I just grabbed my stuff and went. I was going to drive to Seattle and find the Weavers' headquarters—I was so scared I'd fucked everything up, and if I could just _find him _and _get him back_, then it'd all be okay—"

Bella went from smiling to frowning and then to trying to get Nina to slow down by waving her hands in her face. "Hey, hey, hey. Let's just get one thing straight: none of this is your fault. Okay?" Nina didn't look like she would give up the self-blame so easily, but Bella wasn't discouraged. "Nathan found us once, and it was only a matter of time before he found us again."

"But it happened on the same day Jake went to check the mailbox—to which I sent that packet."

"So Nathan tracked it down." It did make sense the farther she allowed it to sink in. "How is that your fault?"

"We were the only ones who knew about it, how the hell did he find out?"

Bella's lips stilled around the words she couldn't speak, and Nina watched her expectantly, as if waiting for Bella to give her another suggestion. But then she looked past her, a blankness smoothing her features.

"Unless Dr. Mercer told someone," Nina whispered.

At first, Bella felt a twinge of guilty relief that Nina might figure it out for herself, but as Nina continued staring off into the middle-distance, a new scenario entirely emerged to present Bella with chilling clarity.

What if Rebecca knew to tell Steven because _Jacob_ told Rebecca? He could have told her about the mailbox when Deputy Stober brought her around. Rebecca and Jacob must have somehow managed to throw together a plan to draw Nathan out, to get him to where they wanted him. And Jacob went along because he knew the Marshals would cover every angle possible, and eventually they would find him. What he hadn't counted on, though, was that Rebecca would double-cross him. But why should he have suspected that from his own sister?

And suddenly it all made perfect sense: _Don't let my brother blame himself, okay? He's good at that. None of this is his fault, not a damn thing._

"Mom!" Bella shouted as she sprinted for the kitchen. "Dad! We have to call the Marshals, _right now_. They have to find her, they have to find Rebecca. She's going to try and kill Nathan—please—" She stopped dead in her tracks, noticing how confoundedly calm her parents appeared. "We need to stop her before something awful happens. . . ." Trailing off, Bella acknowledged the wordless communication that passed between Renée and Charlie.

"Come, sit," Renée said, not unkindly, and pulled out a chair by the table. Bella went obediently, and as she sat, Nina came wandering in. "You, too, babe." Renée got a couple of plates with ready-made sandwiches, as promised, then set down two large and steaming mugs in front of them.

Bella gathered her mug to her, but merely wrapped her fingers around it. Nina did the same, and then they waited as Renée and Charlie, with a piece of paper in hand, sat down across from them. When Charlie settled his eyes on Bella, something clicked into place.

They knew.

"It's all right, baby," Renée said, no doubt catching every single thought flitting through her daughter's head. "We know. Steven told Dad everything while waiting for surgery."

Before Bella could think to hold back, the words were out of her mouth. "Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine, Bella," Charlie said. "Just like the nurse told you. He will, however, answer to the law like anyone who breaks it. Lucky for him, he's now working with the Marshals, and with him as witness, and some DNA from another case, they'll be able to put Nathan away for a long, long time, which will earn Steven some lenience." Turning to Nina, Charlie unfolded the paper, then slid it in front of her. "Do you know who this is?"

No reply came, but when Bella dared to tear her eyes from man in the photo to her friend's owlish yet confused expression, Nina finally spoke. "That's my therapist, Dr. Mercer. What's he got to do with this?"

"That's Nathan, sweetie," Renée managed to say, so very gently. "They matched some DNA at your house to his." Even though she kept her emotions from taking over her speech, tears glistened in her eyes as Nina took one look at them, then ran from the room.

"Let her go," Charlie said when Bella got up to follow. "Sit down." And she promptly did as she was told.

"Charlie," Renée intervened.

"Am I yelling?" He looked at his wife and she shook her head but pleaded with her eyes. Bella focused on her sandwich, dutifully picking it up to stuff her mouth full before her tongue decided to be a traitorous rebel. "Bella, can you look at me?" She did, slowing her chewing as she met the full force of her dad's gaze. "I meant what I said: I want you to rest before we talk about this. All right? But if you so much as even _think—_"

"What your dad wants to say is to eat up and then get your butt to bed." Renée shot a sharp sideways glance at her husband.

"Oh for Christ's sake," Charlie grumbled. He snatched up the printed photo of Nathan, then stood from the table. "Nina's got it down pat—exit before you're outnumbered." And with that, he left through the same door Nina had.

Bella finished chewing, then said, "I deserved to hear whatever he had to say, Mom. He just cares, and that's the only way he knows how to show it."

"Oh," Renée said, a sigh. "I know, baby, and I'm sorry. But I don't want him to get worked up. He's been showing me how much he cares since Jolene called and told us you disappeared, and, frankly, I don't think I can handle another speech. I can't watch him stress this much."

Bella took another bite, filling her mouth to stop herself from putting her foot in it again.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	18. Nobody Knows

**-x][17][x-**

* * *

**Nobody Knows**

* * *

_I never meant to start a war, I just wanted you to let me in / "Wrecking Ball" by Miley Cyrus_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

After Bella finished her sandwich and spent the better part of an hour sipping cold cocoa, she dragged herself to her room. On her way there, she heard the low murmur of Renée's and Nina's voices from the study. She could only imagine what it must be like to find out someone you thought you knew turned out to be a fake. It was a frightening thought, knowing Nina had been so close to Nathan.

As Bella peeled off her clothes, Jacob's betrayal reemerged to demand her attention. She didn't want to think about it, not now. She couldn't. To force it from her mind, she dug out some clean clothes before wrapping a towel around her body and plodding off to the bathroom.

It was no use, though, and when she laid eyes on Jacob's shower gel she snatched it from its perch and threw it into the trashcan. "You promised," she whispered, a harshness entering her voice, weak as it was, which took her by surprise, and then she stood there, arms limp at her sides. She cried all the silent tears that she didn't have left yet stubbornly kept on falling.

She was stuck in a dark and cold and suffocating place, and she searched frantically for something to hold on to, for a way out. She found nothing but anger and despair—he went behind her back, he lied to her, he didn't trust them to get through it together. That only propelled her right back to the spotlight of the lamp above the mirror in front of her. She sank down to tuck her knees beneath her chin as she curled up and hid from the hideousness she spied in her reflection.

What right did she have to be mad? She was no different. She had done the exact same thing to her parents. She had lied and kept secrets and broken her promise—just like Jacob. And that was what in the end forced her off the tiles and into the shower and its scalding spray. Despite this rotten revelation of hypocrisy, she found no remedy against the stabbing pain in her heart. It didn't matter that she acknowledged she was a terrible daughter, just as bad in her own way; it didn't undo the damage, and it certainly didn't lessen the heartbreak.

When Bella eventually found her way back to her room she felt raw, as if the rough strokes with the loofah had broken her skin, gone all the way through her, and it was with heavy bones she crawled into bed.

**-xo][O][ox-**

Dreams chased her; shadows drew crude patterns across the walls until night swept in to hide them in its obscure gloom. She lay there awake and unmoving for so long her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Voices approached, then faded. With a dull sense of relief, and a faint smile, she listened to Ashley's and Jesse's requests to see her, and Renée and Charlie telling them they had to wait. She didn't want them to see her in this state, wearing her inner torment on the outside. It was the last thing they needed.

Soon the house settled into its cradle of quiet and calm, and once Bella gathered enough willpower to actually push the covers out of the way, instead of just thinking about it, it was past midnight. She slipped out of bed, making her way to the kitchen, where she found Renée at the table, laptop and a forgotten mug of coffee in front of her.

"Hi," she said, voice hoarse from the obscene amount of hours of sleep she'd caught up on. Renée looked up and smiled, then opened her arms.

"Come here, baby."

Bella went without hesitation, and like a small child she let herself be pulled onto her mom's lap. She wrapped her arms around Renée's neck. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry I hurt you and I really don't like who I've become, but I'm so tired . . . I don't want to be like this."

"Oh, sweetheart. You're still the same person, you're just dealing with all this the best you can. We all are."

The last thing she wanted right now was to cry—enough was enough, damn it—so she took a few measured breaths before speaking. "I don't _know_ how to deal with it, Mom, that's the problem. I keep getting so _mad_ with Jacob, but then I know I have no right because I'm no different, and then I feel guilty, and I don't want to. I _want_ to be mad at him because he shouldn't have lied. But I lied, too, though, and it's all a mess and there's no _end_ to it."

"Hey." Renée smoothed her daughters hair back, framed her face and made Bella look at her. "Your mistakes don't forfeit others'. Okay?" She waited as more tears welled up. "Of course you're hurt, and you're allowed to be. I understand, though, and I know it isn't easy. Just know that you have every right to what you're feeling. No one's faulting you for being upset."

There was no more space for unshed tears, and Bella nodded. "I guess," she managed, choked by a sob. "I mean, I _know_ that, but it doesn't help." She exhaled, frustrated with herself and the situation.

"You want to be useful," Renée said. "I get that. If I can give a suggestion, though? How about we go do something to help us sleep? Because we're no good to anyone if we're the living dead. And tomorrow afternoon Wade will come over, and you can talk to him—tell him whatever it is you want him to know. How's that sound?"

The mention of Deputy Stober reminded Bella of her failed plans to keep Steven safe from the law. Now, however, when she considered how much his cooperation would help with catching Nathan, any hopelessness she would have felt was minimized to a subtle pinch of sadness, but mostly indescribable gratitude filled her. Once the Marshals got their hands on Nathan he would go to prison and be out of their lives, which was all Jacob and Rebecca had ever wanted.

She just hoped they wouldn't be too late.

Ultimately, the more she turned it over in her head she knew it was out of her hands—out of all of their hands—and even though she was scared as hell, accepting there was nothing more she could do right now eased some of the tension from her body.

Bella allowed a little smile. "You know what? I think that sounds like a great idea."

"Of course it does." Renée winked, then got up when Bella slid off her lap. "I may not be getting any younger, but I've still got the touch."

"Yeah," Bella agreed. "You totally do."

**-xo][O][ox-**

Morning dawned gray and cold, but a hint of hope seeped in through Bella's open door, accompanying the smell of freshly brewed coffee and . . . "Pancakes. Oh boy." She didn't bother with clothes and darted out of her room in only her t-shirt and panties.

The kitchen was fully occupied, and Bella stopped in the doorway to watch with a growing grin as Jesse and Ashley looked up from their plates.

"You're awake!" Ashley exclaimed over Jesse's "Bells!"

Bella spread her arms wide when they volleyed out of their seats. It was a challenge, but she stayed on her feet when their hugs claimed her body wherever they could fit them. She laughed while overwhelming joy fought for control over her throat.

"Bells! Bells?" Jesse vied for her attention as she tried to drop kisses in between shocks of blond hair and Ashley's giggling. "Bells, guess what!"

"What?"

"Nina came to see us!"

"She did? That's _awe_some."

"I know, right?" Jesse crowed, and Renée laughed.

"All right, all right. Come and sit down, you kids, or your pancakes will get cold. You too, Bella."

Ashley and Jesse let go, reluctantly returning to their chairs. Their faces more than made up for the lack of sunshine. Bella dried her cheeks and went to sit next to Nina, who eyed her with a careful smile.

"Sorry 'bout yesterday," she leaned in to whisper, and Bella instantly gave her a sideways hug.

"Charlie, can I have some milk?" Jesse asked.

"Sure thing, kiddo." Charlie poured from the carton while glancing at Bella. "Mornin', Bells. How'd you sleep?"

"Oh my Gosh, Bella, you have to check out this hilarious video I found—"

"Ash, honey? What'd we say?"

"Sorry."

Bella smiled at Ashley and quietly answered, "I slept okay, Dad. Thanks," she added when he filled her glass after Jesse's. To Ashley she said, "I'll come check it out later, yeah?" Ashley's eyes flitted from Renée to Charlie, to Bella, and then she nodded.

"What do you want on your pancakes, babe?" Renée asked.

"Just some sugar, thanks." Next to her, Nina made gurgling sound, then coughed. It took Bella all of three seconds to catch on, then she elbowed her in the side. Too late, though, because just as soon she choked on her own laugh. She shook her head. "Don't even go there."

Nina stuffed a large bite dripping with syrup into her mouth, then rolled her eyes heavenward. "Mm-hmm. Been there, done that."

"Shh!" Bella hissed.

"Good pancakes, right?" came Renée's knowing voice.

"Epic," Bella agreed. Discreetly, she checked her dad for warning signs.

"Must be," he muttered behind the hint of a conquering smile. "You haven't even tasted them yet."

"Oh my God." Nina squeaked and smacked her mouth, to which Charlie reacted with a sputter.

"Nina!" Bella protested. She cupped her hands around her face to shield them all off. "I don't know any of you."

"Why don't you sit down with the kids, honey?" Charlie said to Renée, getting up with his plate before she could answer. "I'll take care of that." Bella couldn't see her dad's face, but Renée's eyes twinkled when she gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"Anytime."

Renée waggled her brows. "So, since today's Valentine's Day, and we had to postpone Bella's birthday party, I was thinking we could do something to celebrate both."

Valentine's Day . . . without Jacob. Bella held back a frown. She wouldn't let this day get her down. "Sounds great." At least she sounded like she believed it.

"I'll call the bakery in town." Renée got up. "Why don't you decide what you want for dinner?"

Charlie set down a plate in front of Bella, who glanced around the table in a conspiratorial manner when Renée left the room. "You know what I _really_ feel like?"

Eyes alight, Jesse suggested, "Pizza?"

"Whoa, spin-out. Since when were you a _psychic_?" Bella kept up the charade of being shocked out of her socks to Jesse's delight. Then a mysterious look came over him.

"I have magic powers."

"Dude, that is so not fair. I want magic powers, too," Nina said.

"Totes not fair," Ashley agreed.

Jesse's face scrunched up in concentration, and he aimed a stiff finger at Bella. "I decide we're gonna have pizza."

There was a short pause.

"Oh my gosh, this is _so weird_. I can't change my mind! Dad? I want p—pi—_pizza. _Gah."

Jesse stared at Bella in wonder and looked like he was about to explode from pride while Charlie watched them as if they'd all lost their minds.

"Jesse, buddy," he said. "Why don't you use those super powers of yours and make everyone eat their pancakes?"

Jesse nodded dutifully, then wriggled his finger. "Alakazam! Eat your cakes—" He broke off and chortled. "I mean, pancakes."

Bella jabbed her fork with a stabbed serving of pancakes in his direction. "You've got some skills, young one."

They all resumed breakfast in a somewhat civilized manner. Charlie used up the rest of the batter, then snuck out of the room with the promise he'd be back to check on them soon, so they better behave. When everyone was done, Bella and Ashley cleared the table while Nina filled the dishwasher. Jesse called dibs on the dishrag to wipe the counter tops, but ended up circling the kitchen while pretending the rag had a will of its own whenever he was asked to stop playing with it.

This was home. And Bella was so happy to be back.

**-xo][O][ox-**

Renée took Ashley and Jesse with her and drove into town while Charlie stayed to do some work. In reality, he did it to keep an eye on Bella and Nina. And when they told him they were going out the back to the barn, Charlie took many long seconds as they squirmed under his probing skepticism and inquisition as to what their plans were. They couldn't blame him for being suspicious.

Once reassured that they were just going to hang out, Charlie let them go.

Bella decided there was no better time than the present to provide a thorough update and ended up telling Nina everything that had happened since Saturday night. Nina sat very still, hugging a large plush cushion, as she listened without interrupting. Once Bella ran out of words and steam, she had drifted across the room to Jacob's guitar. She gently stroked one fingertip along the strings, but didn't lift it up.

"He's not doing it to hurt you, you know," Nina said, uncharacteristically wary and quiet.

"Yeah." Bella took the guitar with her to sit down next to her friend. She sighed. "I know." She twisted and wriggled until she found a comfortable position. "Maybe I'm just angry with myself." One by one she lightly plucked the strings. "I couldn't stop worrying, you know? Even if he told me a million times we'd be okay. I guess he couldn't stop blaming himself, either, so that never helped. It makes me feel like crap though. Like, I get mad with him for leaving, but then I think that maybe he wouldn't have if I'd just tried a little harder to not be so damn obvious. But . . . the worst part? I wish he would've included me, you know? That's what gets me . . . if I'd just been included, I would've gone _anywhere_ with him."

"Babe, I hate to tell you, but you're no Bonnie."

Bella laughed. "I know, right?" Then she jumped up and spun the guitar under her arm and aimed the head at Nina. She made her voice sound like she'd chain-smoked since birth: "But he could teach me."

"Oh my God, no. Just no, Bella. Jesus and fuck, give me that before you seriously harm someone."

"But I thought that was the whole point."

"Wanted for embarrassing people to death . . . yeah. No. I'm pretty sure that'd never make it to the Most Wanted website."

Bella stuck out her bottom lip and flopped back down. "Boo."

Expression brightening, Nina suggested, "Let's do something, okay? Something that doesn't include sitting around and moping."

"Like what?"

Nina tapped her lips in contemplation. "Candles. We need candles, and lots of them."

"What for?"

"One candle for a thought, one candle for a wish. For fun. I know it doesn't actually do anything, but let's pretend, okay? Each candle we light gives us one less thing to worry about. C'mon, don't be a party-pooper."

Outside, far beyond the thick cover of clouds, the sun had begun its descent, shrouding a powdery crystal landscape in twilight. Somewhere out there was Jacob, and as Nina got up to with Bella's instructions go back to the house to find some candles, she let go of anger and doubt and the complexities of what was right or wrong and just allowed herself to _miss him_. Really miss him. The way she'd missed him before Craig's dad called and caused her bearings to quake and come apart.

She set the guitar aside and got to her feet, deciding she would dig up some music to make her own contribution toward a more fun and less depressing atmosphere.

As she went over the collection, pondering her choices—The Beatles or The Rolling Stones?—she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, a figure moving out of the shadows spilling in through the open doors. Her heart stopped; the least person she would have expected to come through that door emerged.

She expelled a sharp breath. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"Well, wow. Look at this—it's like Temptation Island, with a Care Bear touch." Steven ambled farther into the room, a truly Fish-persona-worthy smirk on his face. Bella moved to stand in his path. "Cute," he said, clearly not sincere, and she followed his gaze over her shoulder to the ocean of cushions.

"Don't be mean," she said. She meant to sound more scathing, but failed when she was more concerned with figuring out how the hell he had gotten released from the hospital, let alone to her home. And never mind that she was disturbingly thrilled to see him. Swatting that thought away and trying again, she poured more sternness into her voice. "You should be in a bed. _Resting_."

"Nah. I woke up feeling like a champ." His eyes returned to hers, then he cocked a brow. "But thanks for the concern. And why the pout, princess? Aren't you happy to be home?"

"Yes. I _am_. Which reminds me: you have an issue with boundaries. What's with you busting into my home uninvited?"

"Hey, what good am I on the right side of the law if I'm supposed to make sure you stay off the wrong side of it?" When she rolled her eyes, he wagged one long finger in front of her before placing it over her lips, stopping her from firing another retort at him. "Shh. You know I'm right."

She waited, not about to indulge his arrogance, and instead offered him a dirty look. "Can I talk now?" she asked when he didn't make any attempts to break contact, but it was a comical string of incomprehensible mumbling against its barricade.

Steven gave her a wry smile. "What was that?" He dropped his hand, clearly amused by her unimpressive scowl. "Sorry. Shoot."

"You think you're so funny."

"Pretty much."

She made a noise of disgust. "How'd you get away?"

"Tsh. So quick to think the worst of me. What makes you think they didn't let me go?" Bella raised her brow and watched him with heavy skepticism. Steven chuckled. "All right. I'll give you that one." Stepping around her, no apparent discomfort in his gait, he went on. "Don't worry 'bout how I got away; it's not important. What _is_, however, is—" He stooped to pick up Jacob's guitar. "Did your boy band wannabe teach you how to play?"

She hadn't expected that line of questioning, which stalled her until she figured out that was exactly what he had intended.

"Don't change the subject." His hands came up in a gesture of partial surrender, guitar still his hostage, but he didn't provide her with any answers. _Oh, what a surprise._ "Nina's going to be back here any minute, so I think it would be best if you left."

"Probably not."

"What do you mean?"

She hadn't paid attention, not really, but now she recognized his aimless wandering for what it was: he was restless and nervous. He circled the room, checking everything from the rough wooden flooring to the rafters in the ceiling, and as she waited the wrongness he brought with him spoke louder. "You've got a visitor."

A visitor? And with a flutter of fear in her chest she remembered Wade Stober was supposed to stop by. "You can't be here. You'll get caught." But wait. That would be a bad thing . . . how? Mystified by her response, she sorted through her brain for an explanation.

"I'll be out of your hair soon enough," Steven said before she found her tongue. "I just wanted to make sure you're behaving."

Affronted, she marched up to him and yanked the guitar from his grasp. "I might've been willing to lie for you, but that doesn't give you the right to show up here and. . . ."

Steven's eyes narrowed as he loomed over her, and in some mysterious language that she couldn't decode, his proximity summoned a current of nervous energy to dance in the small gap between them.

"Why were you going to do it?" he asked.

"Huh? Do what?"

"Lie."

"Oh." That brought her back on track. She mirrored his squint and tilted her head defiantly. "Because you're not an asshole, even if you work so damn hard to be one."

"Well, aren't you just the sweetest." It was a sarcastic remark, yet something in his gaze spoke of other things entirely. At first it looked like he was about to say more, but he swallowed it back as a hardness took over his countenance, eyes unyielding and unkind—this was the Steven she knew best.

"Right. So, I guess that's it, then?"

"Yeah," he said, jaw clenching with a tight smile. He stood straight. "Watch your back, chica."

"Wait," she called out when he walked past her, and he stopped. She chewed the inside of her cheek, scolding herself: _Wait? Seriously? Let him go, already._ He half-turned with that borderline-bored look about him. She didn't really have anything else to say, but she couldn't quite put a finger on what had come over her. If this were the last time she would see him though, she knew she didn't want them to part ways like this. "Are they sending you to jail?" _God, you sound dumb._

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters," she bit back. "I don't want bad things for you." Then a voice carried through the wind that had begun to pick up outside. Nonplussed, Bella stared at the doors. "Who's that?"

Steven shrugged, strangely tense. He rubbed his temples, then leveled her with a look, his expression clouded. "Was there anything else?"

Was there?_ Yes. No._ Wordlessly, she watched him waiting as she tried to find an answer. She set the guitar down, just as footsteps approached, then slowed to a stop. Bella looked up. Her eyes widened as their "visitor" entered the room.

"Jacob," Steven greeted, not seeming surprised in the least to see him. "She's all yours."

Jacob eyed Steven as they passed each other at the door, uncharacteristically and disturbingly calm, and then punched him. He was so fast Bella didn't register the action fully until Steven was doubled over and swearing his head off.

"That's for kidnapping her." Jacob turned to Bella who couldn't make herself move, let alone breathe. Not only because she didn't dare believe he was standing there, but also due to the stranger she saw in the eyes of this boy she loved so much her heart might break from it.

But then she dropped her gaze to meet Steven's, and she started to speak. As he was so good at by now though, he beat her to it.

"I'd say 'I hate to tell you I told you so', but you know that'd be a lie—I do kind of wish I wasn't so right all the time, but what would be the fun in that? One hell of a delayed reaction if I ever saw one, I'll give him that." To Jacob: "You're an emo freak, you know that, right?"

"Yep."

Steven laughed. "Wow. I forgot how special you think you are." He stood straight and tipped his head back while digging into his jacket pocket. "Goddamn, you pulled a number on me."

"Are you done yet?"

"I had a tissue in here. . . ."

Bella found her legs and moved for a box of Kleenex next to the stereo. She did her best to avoid talking since it would be a lost out effort to a waste of blubbered nonsense. When Steven tilted his chin back down so he could see her, she lost her tongue entirely and maybe that was just as well. She wadded a few tissues and placed them with gentle pressure against Steven's nose while searching the faint flicker of surprise in his face. "Sorry," she managed. She was convinced he would have more of that sarcasm of his ready to be fired at any second, so she took the box back to its place before she gave him more ammunition.

There was no humor at all present when he spoke. "Yeah, she's all yours." And somehow she was glad she had turned her back so she couldn't see what he looked like when he left.

Bella felt Jacob behind her where she stood fussing with the tissues.

"Bella," he whispered. Arms wrapped her into a crushing embrace, and nothing else was said. She knew by the way he held her that he had missed her more than he could say, and she lasted about two heartbeats before she turned to cling to his waist and let the soft cotton of his sweater dry her tears.

**-xo][O][ox-**


	19. So You Say

**-x][18][x-**

* * *

**So You Say**

* * *

_If I could, maybe I'd give you my world. How can I, when you won't take it from me? / "Go Your Own Way" by Lissie_

* * *

**-xo][O][ox-**

No storm raged just yet, but the wind outside was escalating with furious determination. Its howls penetrated the walls, but to Bella it was nothing but a faraway murmur.

The steady thrum of Jacob's heartbeat filled her ear, drowning out everything around them, and she pressed her face close to his chest. It wasn't difficult to let go of all the moments that had lead up to this one when she was enveloped in his comforting warmth. Beat by soothing beat. She didn't know where he'd been, but right now she couldn't bring herself to care enough to ask, let alone linger on what had been said or done. She was just happy he was back.

"I missed you," she whispered with tears in her throat.

"I'm so sorry I left you. I shouldn't've left. I should've—"

"Shh." Bella squeezed his middle as hard as she was able, and shook her head. "It's okay." It was and it wasn't, but it didn't matter now.

"God, please . . . It's not, Bella, it's just not." But it was a weak protest and hinted at defeat. It made Bella extract herself enough to look up and meet his eyes. Was this the part where he took the blame for her kidnapping, too? Jacob searched her face, as if he were looking for something—what, she had no idea. He exhaled. "I love you so much."

"Oh, Jake—"

She met his sudden kiss, at first taken aback and slightly puzzled by the urgency in which his lips moved over her own. But then she melted into him, little by little allowing the fevered strokes and caresses erase whatever questions that might have stubbornly remained to demand her attention.

"I love you, too," she wanted to say, but she was too busy keeping her balance while he maneuvered them to a destination she couldn't have cared less about.

She remembered a time when he had barely dared to touch her, and when he had, even the barest contact had held a world of complications and fear behind it. Over and over he had seemed compelled to ask permission, to be reassured, and if it hadn't been for her own cluelessness, she would have surely combusted from unfulfilled desires.

Now, none of those insecurities remained. Now, Jacob heeded no boundaries. He was gentle, always so gentle, but he was strong, and Bella relished in the firm grip on her hips and thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

His breath was hot and moist against her throat. "I need you." He kissed her jaw. "So much . . . Too much. God, I missed you, Bella, like crazy. You've got no idea how much."

Bella was sure she had an inkling. If he had been anywhere near as desperate for her as she had been for him, she could imagine how badly he had wanted to come home. Had he, too, just as she had, tried to turn all that off so he could focus on getting through whatever it was he had to face?

"Gah." Buttons were in no uncertain terms infuriating when all she wanted was to feel him, skin on skin. Not to mention the ones on the shirt underneath the sweater. Since when did Jacob wear button-up shirts, anyway? "Off." She yanked at the material.

Jacob didn't waste any time, although she was sure it would have gone a lot quicker if she hadn't been so unwilling to let her hands leave him as he struggled to get the trillion layers of shirts off.

"Fucking buttons," he swore while they fought with them, and they exchanged a look, one that said: _Are you kidding me? Screw the shirt. _Jacob went for the fly of his jeans instead, then met her eye again when he found it was already open.

Bella tried not to smile or she might start giggling for some reason she couldn't locate. The intensity with which he kept watching her, though, had flames dancing in her belly, and seconds later his weight pinning her to the colorful sea of retro cushions and possessive hands holding her close as he moved over her closed any distance that had been created between them, fused any flaws that had played doubt into her mind.

Her breaths burned in her throat when Jacob rolled her over and wrapped her into his strong yet trembling arms. Both their bodies shook with what she instinctively knew was grief from whatever had taken him away from her in the first place, so she didn't ask. She hugged him hard, just like that first time, and didn't let go until Jacob's chest moved peacefully in rest.

**-xo][O][ox-**

Voices floated from the front of the house when Bella finally came back inside, and she closed the back door soundlessly behind her. Jacob would be right behind her, so she had gone ahead to locate her parents to ask them about Steven, if there were any news on how he had escaped the hospital.

"Looking for someone?" Bella started and spun around to find Steven blocking her path. His smile told her he was full of himself, which overrode her shock at seeing him there.

"Don't flatter yourself." She stepped forward to brush past him, but his arm came up to stop her from leaving. Instead of force, she threw up her hands in a show of frustrated surrender while pointedly looking nowhere in particular.

"Hey—"

"Keep your hands to yourself." She flicked him a brief glance, hoping the strange discomfort she felt at his touch didn't show. "What are you still doing here, anyway?"

"Let's see . . . how about helping?" The way he said it was as if to remind her of something that should have already been obvious, which, _obviously_, it wasn't. _Take this, Fishmeister._

"Oh? I'm sorry. I must have missed that . . . while trying to keep up with all the other important things you were telling me."

"Ouch. What crawled up your ass and didn't die?"

"It's called a backbone, didn't you know? Now, move." Bella shoved Steven out of the way and strode toward the voices.

"I'd call it 'my security blanket is back', but nobody's perfect. And bitchiness doesn't suit you, you know."

"Again, I'm so sorry for not living up to your expectations. Was there anything else, or do you mind me not giving a shit?"

"Come on, you've got to know that was weak." At Steven's amused expression, Bella rolled her eyes.

"Oh my God, really? And here I was trying so hard to be clever." Why was he following her? And why was she still talking? This was getting her nowhere when what she wanted to know would never be provided by Mister Bonehead.

Bella paused outside the study. What did she think she was doing? She didn't want to be like this—this snotty, sarcastic bitch. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath with her head against the wall. Steven was right: it didn't suit her.

The door opened and Wade Stober stepped out with his cell phone to his ear. "Pardon, can you say that again? Yeah, the reception out here's a joke." He offered Bella and Steven a nod in greeting while crinkling his eyes and struggling to make out the caller's words.

From inside the study she could make out Nina's voice as she spoke with Charlie.

"You know you want to," Steven said with a jerk of his chin at the door.

Bella filled her lungs, ignored Steven, and smiled at Stober as she rounded him . . . then stopped.

"But they've got proof Nathan was in my house, they've got Steven's testimony _and_ mine."

"Yeah, and mine," came Jacob's voice from behind Bella as he passed her, a gentle brush of his hand across her lower back. "And I had his gun in my face, but that doesn't mean anything if we can't find him. We could make a movie out of this production and show the entire fucking country, but if he's gone he's gone."

"Mind your language, Jake, all right, buddy?" Jacob closed his mouth but showed no sign of taking her dad's words to heart. Charlie scratched the stubble on his chin wearily and looked up from the desk to where Bella hung back in the doorway. "How're you holding up, kiddo?"

"I'm okay, Dad." In comparison to her dad she was probably more than just okay. She drew forward to lean on the armrest of Jacob's chosen chair. "What's happening?"

Charlie held up his hand in a gesture of desired silence, and both Nina and Jacob looked like they had been about to start talking on top of each other. "No sign of them. No car either. But Stober says they've got eyes all along the coast so I'm sure it's only a matter of time."

"How did you get back?" Bella met Jacob's dark eyes.

"He called us late last night," Charlie said before Jacob could open his mouth, and Bella caught a flash of brewing irritation in the glance he threw Jacob. "He was at his dad's with some cousin or another to Nathan and pulled up in her car about a minute after Deputy Stober and Steven stopped by. I think that's a conversation for the two of you on your own lonesome . . . when I'm done here." He blew out a heavy breath and leaned forward on his elbows to watch them, all of them, one by one. "I don't know all the gruesome details of what you kids have been up to, and I'm still in the process of making up my mind on how much I want to know and how much I need to know, but you've sure gone and made the Marshals' job a lot harder . . . which I'm sure you understand by now."

They all nodded.

"So the question now is: is there _anything_ left that I don't know about and _should_ know?" He dropped a long and dramatic enough pause before punctuating the severity of how far they had pushed the limits. "Because I'm still willing to give you the chance to tell me the truth. So help me God, though, I won't stand for any more lies from either of you, are we clear on that? I'll send you to military school, don't think for a second that I won't. _All of you_."

Bella would have been the first to speak up in the quivering silence Charlie's words incurred, but as it so happened, she had offered up all the knowledge she held the moment Jacob disappeared. And whatever else she could say she guessed Steven had told them, so now she was left waiting to see if Jacob had something to share that he already hadn't.

A knock on the door that remained opened turned their heads to Wade Stober as he entered. "Can I interrupt for a minute?"

"Sure," Charlie said.

Stober held up his cell. "That was the boss. Got a call from a guy with the Tacoma office, and it looks like they've got Nicholas Kirkland in a hospital in some little town on the Washington-Oregon border."

Bella covered her mouth, but it didn't do much to hide the shock that tazered her. "He's _alive_?"

"Just. Now we just need to sit tight and pray he makes it out of surgery and stays that way."

"And you think he'll talk?" Charlie wanted to know.

"Hard to say at this point, but we've got our fingers crossed."

"I'll let you get back to it, but I'd like to have a chat with your daughter afterward, if that'd be all right?"

Stober walked off again after a stiff confirmatory nod from Charlie, who in turn remained where he was. He waited but nobody said anything, which he didn't interpret as case closed, or even a possible sign there were no more lies to uncover, but rather as impudence.

"I can be here all night." One of her dad's bushy brows hiked upward, along with the rest of him as he got off his seat. He rounded the desk and planted himself on top of its edge in front of them, arms folded.

Nina shrank back in perfect sync with Bella, but Jacob didn't move a muscle. Bella tried to see past this new facade of his so she could figure out what was up with him. He was more impenetrable than ever though, even if he'd held her body so close, and as the seconds dragged along to the ticking of the clock above their heads, she felt her previous conclusions wilting in the expanding void of confessions. Did he mean to tell them nothing of what had happened since he disappeared from Tillamook?

"Did Steven tell you about his dad?" Bella finally asked her father in a tiny voice. Charlie nodded. "Okay." Bella thought harder. "Did he tell you that he had something to do with Rebecca disappearing?" Out of the corner of her eye she caught the slightest twitch in Jacob's hardened expression. Charlie nodded once more.

"Worked my daddy-issue angle—"

"Just so you could protect my daughter, yeah, I heard that one and I don't buy it. But I can't ignore your story's got the most supporting evidence, so I won't kick your ass just yet. Don't think I'm forgetting you kidnapped my little girl, though."

Bella felt a swell of pride in not only her dad's protectiveness of her, but also that he was putting Steven in his place. She did feel a little sorry for him, though, since he had helped her, but she held on to the steel in her spine. She wouldn't look at him. She didn't want to see that cocky face of his, and the tamped down anger in her dad's eyes told her it was a killer version of it.

"What else did he tell you?" she asked her dad.

"About Nathan and his alter ego as the unforgettable Dr. Lucien Mercer," Steven offered before Charlie could speak, and Nina sat that little bit straighter. "About Jacob's sinister plans with his sister—if she told me all of it and told it true is a different story though, one only Jacob can answer to."

Bella held her breath.

"He has," Charlie said. "And it checks out."

Sputtering, Bella protested, "But that—"

"Hey, by the way, freak, how does it make you feel that Rebecca's a tattletale?"

Jacob shot off the chair and Bella nearly fell flat on her face when throwing herself out of her dad's impressively speedy intervention. Charlie's head looked like it would burst as he fought to keep Jacob from attacking Steven.

"Get out." Jacob could barely speak past his engulfing temper, and Bella genuinely feared her dad wouldn't be able to hold him. "Get him out of here before I kill him, I swear I'll do it."

"That's enough, Jacob," Charlie ordered, equally strained.

Nina turned to Steven. "Haven't you done enough to this family? Maybe you're not the person we thought you were, but that doesn't make any of this okay. Do you have to be here?"

"When Stober leaves I leave."

"As far as I'm concerned he can be wherever he wants." Bella met Jacob's incredulous stare without balking, though on the inside she was ready to have herself admitted. "He's a pain in the ass and rude, yeah, but neither of us are an _ounce_ better than he is."

Jacob no longer struggled to get free, but Charlie kept his arms in a secure hold behind his back. Apparently he wasn't convinced Jacob wouldn't give knocking Steven on his ass another shot. Bella couldn't say she was either.

She held still, motionless and persevering under the passing moments during which Jacob probably assessed the level of her madness. _I don't care_, she wanted to tell him, and she probably didn't, not anymore. They were all screwed up in one way or another, some more, some less, and so was she, but so what? As much as it hurt to be excluded she understood why they did it, but they were only _seventeen_ so it wasn't the end of the world.

"Don't worry, princess. I'll be a good boy and stop antagonizing him. He's just so much fun to tease."

"Walk it off, Steven," Charlie barked.

"Yes, boss." Steven gave a salute and slipped out of the room.

"The sooner that kid leaves the sooner the odds of me getting a damn heart attack will decrease." Charlie shook his head. "All right, Jake, are you going to at least try practicing some self-restraint?"

"Yeah," Jacob said coolly.

"All right, then." Charlie released him but didn't let him out of his sight. Jacob massaged his arms but eventually returned to sit next to Nina. Charlie reached up behind his neck, a look of remorse about him. "You gave me a run for my money, kid. I'm sorry I had to get a little rough." Jacob turned an unfathomable look his way, then shook himself and nodded.

"Don't worry about it."

"Christ." Charlie combed through the thick and richly brown strands on his head and sighed.

After giving them another long but not as severe look, he let them go. Bella stayed behind to wait while her dad got Deputy Stober. She had hoped Jacob would at least look at her before he left, but the fact that he couldn't even seem to do that only fed the new conviction that caused dread to spread like a vicious infection through her chest. He was slowly but surely shutting them out and she had no idea why or even how to get him to stop.

Having Nina back in her life made her wonder what her friend would suggest, but just as soon she had to fight off another dilemma entirely. She almost laughed. Almost.

Of course Nina's solution would be sex . . . like it was the answer to any problem.

_Dude, sex is always the answer, _Nina's voice echoed in the back of her mind_._

Ha. Right. Not when the subject for intervention was being exceptionally edgy and unapproachable. And definitely not when she already had put that method to the test, and still Jacob was slipping away.

"God, I suck." Behind her, someone cleared their throat, and Bella jumped to her feet. "Sorry. I have a habit of talking to myself when . . . Okay, you probably don't need to know that." She forced a smile. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"Sure did." Wade motioned for her to sit back down, which she did.

Stober went for the desk to stand across from her. He got out a small but thick notepad. Nerves turned jittery under his observation and she hoped he would ask his questions and be done with it before she regressed to some _serious_ word vomit by sheer imagined pressure alone.

"Was there anything in particular?"

"I'd just like you to go over the past forty-eight hours, if that'd be all right?"

"Sure, whatever you want to know."

So she told him; she told him everything she could think would be of use, and probably a lot more, too. By the time she was finished she got the impression he hadn't required nor expected quite such a substantial recollection.

Stober smiled and flipped the notepad closed. "Thanks. This'll make the boss happy."

"So," Bella began, then picked at non-existent fluff on her sweatpants. "Can I ask you about Steven's dad?"

"What do you want to know?"

She knew she couldn't ask what Steven had told him because he wouldn't be able to say, which left her with a challenge to think up a line of questioning that would lead the Marshal to tell her without telling her . . . and pigs would fly. As if she were smart enough.

"How bad is he?"

"He lost a lot of blood, but he's in good hands." Bella nodded and fidgeted some more as Stober came around to crouch next to the chair. "But that's not what you wanted to know is it?" When she shook her head and met his eye, she knew this game was way too complicated for her to grasp. "If there's anything. . . ." A buzzing noise drew her attention to his pocket about the same time as he reached for the phone. "Boss again. He just can't stop worrying about me." With one finger held up, Stober answered. "Yep?" His brows lifted, then fell little by little into the shape of a frown. "Got it."

Once the call ended, Bella waited as patiently as she could for Stober to pocket his phone. The general lack of severity gave her hope, even if his face was difficult to read.

"Well," he said and got up, brushing palms down his legs. "How about a rain check?"

"What happened?"

"We just got ourselves another murder mystery."

Bella stumbled after him out of the room, feeling her heart racing, while stuttering, "What—who?"

"Nick Kirkland."

"How?"

"That's what I need to find out."

"How is that even possible?"

Stober paused and turned. "I suggest you leave this one alone, Bella. The less you know, the better." When he saw she was going to protest, he stopped her. "I'm serious. We've got this."

Reprimanded, Bella stilled her steps. But what danger could anything about Nick's murder possibly be to her, though? Finding no immediate explanation, she still couldn't get herself to challenge the Marshal's directive, but mostly because it reminded her of that she had been told twice in the past already to leave it be. First Jacob, then Steven. After all that had happened, it was time to let the lesson be learned and do as she was told.

**-xo][O][ox-**

* * *

**Author's Note:** Only three chapters this weekend. Next weekend I will give you at least another three, but then there will be a wait for the epilogue. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, it means so much. :-)

All the love, and until next week! :-*


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